


Walk The Line

by softlyforgotten



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco, The Young Veins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-22
Updated: 2010-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlyforgotten/pseuds/softlyforgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer and Ryan go on vacation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk The Line

> And there is one sure thing about the fall of gods: they do not fall a little; they crash and shatter or sink deeply into green muck. It is a tedious job to build them up again; they never quite shine. And the child’s world is never quite whole again. It is an aching kind of growing.
> 
> \--- John Steinbeck, _East of Eden_.

 

The house is really, really big.

They get there, and Spencer’s mom has barely opened the door before the twins are pushing through to claim the bedroom on the second floor. They’d been all excited about having their own rooms, not having to _share_ for once, but then Ryan got bored on the drive and spent an hour making up increasingly more terrifying stories about how haunted the house was. Spencer had tried to point out that Ryan knew nothing about the house, hadn’t ever been there before, didn’t even know Mr and Mrs Linde who lived there most of the time, but by the time Ryan had gotten to the little boy who died after he fell down the stairs and still sat on the banister sometimes, grey-faced and transparent, the twins had decided a shared room might be more fun after all.

Spencer’s parents take the master bedroom on the first floor, and so Ryan and Spencer pick one on the third floor. Spencer tells Ryan that the third floor is the one with the crappy heating, but Ryan’s too enamoured with the idea of a whole floor to themselves to even get annoyed at lugging their suitcases up three flights. They leave their bags in separate corners, pick a bed each and start constructing a tower out of the CDs they brought, and outside it starts snowing again. Spencer presses his nose against the window and stares, still not used to it even though they've driven through it for most of the day. When he turns around, Ryan is sprawled out on the floor, finally sleeping after spending the twelve hour drive to Colorado Springs wide-awake.

Mindful of the cold, Spencer steals the blanket off one of the beds to drape over him before he goes downstairs to help get the rest of their things out of the car.

*

The idea was to get away from Vegas for Christmas for once, to avoid family and friends constantly coming over during the holidays and stressing Spencer’s mom out. Mr and Mrs Linde are old friends of his parents, and when they announced they wanted to go somewhere a bit warmer for a few weeks, his parents had leapt upon the chance for a house swap.

Spencer had been kind of pissed about it until they told him that if he wanted, Ryan could come along too. Then it had been fine, no matter how much Brendon and Brent complained about being left behind. Ryan usually only ever spent Christmas morning at his own house before coming over to Spencer’s for the rest of the day, and so it had seemed like a good idea, and Ryan’s dad hadn’t seemed to have a problem with it. Not, Spencer thought grimly, as if Ryan would have told them if he did. Still, Spencer was pretty good at picking out the signs when Ryan’s dad was giving him a particularly hard time.

It was a long vacation – nearly five weeks, from the 18th of December to almost the end of January, and it meant they both missed out on the beginning of school, but neither particularly cared, and their parents had consented for once. Spencer’s mom said, “I hope you two don’t get sick of each other,” and his dad said, “Fight as much as you like as long as no one loses any teeth,” and Ryan grinned at Spencer, fierce and happy and said, “And when we get back, we’ll get ourselves that record deal.”

Spencer said, “Okay.”

*

They mean to stay up late the first night, they really do, but it’s been a long day driving and everyone shuffles up to bed around nine-thirty. Spencer and Ryan talk in low, drowsy voices about school and Ryan still not used to being at _college_ , like an adult or something, and Brent and Brendon and their band. Ryan says, voice slurring slightly with tiredness despite his earlier, impromptu nap on the floor, “I think – now, with Brendon singing, it’s like, and the songs on PureVolume, and Pete Wentz coming down soon – it’s gonna happen.”

“It was always gonna happen,” Spencer says, and Ryan laughs, tired and agreeable. He says something about writing more, and Spencer falls asleep in the gap between his sentences.

He wakes up first the next morning, blinks up at the ceiling with the usual disorientating confusion at waking up in a strange place, strangely disconnected from the room for the moments it takes for him to recognise Ryan’s steady breathing in the next bed. The air is cold and the floor freezing when he slides out of bed, and he pulls on socks and a sweatshirt before heading downstairs, wrapping his arms around his stomach and shivering. He’s not used to the cold.

In the kitchen, Crystal and his mom are making pancakes while Jackie sings obnoxiously loud and high-pitched in the shower down the hall. Spencer perches on the table and eats the first three, until Crystal starts to complain. By the time Ryan makes an appearance, hair mussed and yawning blearily into his fist, Jackie and Spencer’s dad have come in and helped eat almost all of the mixture, but Spencer’s mom quickly makes some more to fry up a few for Ryan.

“It’s really mean how obvious you are about loving Ryan more than us,” Crystal observes, and Spencer grins and shoves Ryan in the ribs with a hard elbow. Ryan pauses, fork halfway to his mouth, and blinks at them all, gaze sleepy and unfocused. Spencer’s mom makes scolding noises and smooths her hand absently over Ryan’s rumpled hair. Ryan leans into the touch just slightly, eyelids flickering closed for a moment, and then turns slightly red when he catches Spencer watching, sits up and finishes eating his breakfast.

Ryan always moves really slow in the mornings, sleeps in late and then takes ages to wake up. He moves like a cat, almost, every movement calculated to use as little energy as possibly, slinking around the place with his shoulder blades showing through the thin shirts he sleeps in. Spencer had slept in an old, worn-in hoodie last night, and he doesn’t know how Ryan could have avoided the cold with just a long-sleeved tee, but then the weather affects Ryan in different ways to most people. He barely notices when he’s cold, but a single degree over eighty will have him throwing himself over furniture and complaining loudly about unbearable heat.

“What are you boys going to do today?” Spencer’s mom asks, dumping the dishes in the sink and making ominous eyes at Spencer that suggest he’s going to be roped into them. Spencer clears his throat hastily.

“Uh, go outside, probably,” he says quickly. “You wanna go explore, Ryan?”

Ryan casts a shifty look at the dishes too and says, “Sure.”

“Right now?” Spencer’s mom asks.

“While it’s fresh,” Spencer says cheerfully and meaninglessly, and drags Ryan out of the room. They go back up to their bedroom and Spencer showers and gets dressed in the bathroom next door, coming back in with wet hair and shivering again already to find Ryan dressed and lacing up his shoes. He looks at Ryan and twists his mouth up, says, “No shower?”

Ryan shrugs.

“You’re already rank from yesterday,” Spencer points out airily, and Ryan shrugs again, doesn’t seem to react until Spencer walks closer to the bed. Then he moves, fast and unexpected, knocking the breath out of Spencer until he’s on the bed with Ryan sitting triumphantly on his stomach.

“Sorry,” Ryan says, “What was that?”

Spencer starts laughing as well as he can through Ryan’s weight on his stomach. Ryan grins and slides until he’s half-lying down, squashing all the breath out of Spencer’s lungs. He says, firmly, “I smell _lovely_. Say it.”

“Ryan,” Spencer chokes. “Ryan, I can’t breathe.”

“Say it!”

Spencer narrows his eyes up at Ryan and Ryan stares impassively back at him. Spencer attempts to sigh, but it comes out as a bit of a wheezed puff because Ryan’s putting all his energy into being as heavy as possible, and so finally he groans and says, “You smell lovely.”

“Oh, thanks,” Ryan says in a surprised kind of voice, and rolls off. Spencer smacks him across the back of the head.

“Asshole.”

“Let’s go outside,” Ryan says.

*

They had seen snow on the drive here yesterday, but it hasn’t quite prepared them for stepping out into the snow. Spencer saw it once before, his parents tell him, when he was four years old, but he can’t remember it all, and it feels very alien, very cold and clinical and unexpected when he knows that last week he was wearing a t-shirt and complaining about the unseasonably warm weather.

“Jesus,” Ryan says, staring around with wide eyes. “This is crazy.”

“You look like a little kid,” Spencer tells him, ignoring his own amazement at the scenery. “All big eyes and open mouth.”

“Shut up,” Ryan says automatically, and they walk out a little further. Crystal and Jackie are making snowballs just around the side of the house and Spencer watches them out of the corner of his eye, wary of sneak attacks. “Don’t you think it’s weird,” Ryan says, and Spencer drags his attention back to him, “How one country can have so many different – I mean, it was hot in Vegas.”

“Not _hot_ ,” Spencer says, arguing for the sake of it. “And I mean. It’s a pretty big country. And we drove for twelve hours.”

Ryan turns to him, nose scrunched up and looking a little annoyed. “Stop pretending like you don’t get it,” he says crossly, and Spencer’s shoulders sag a little. He smiles at Ryan and Ryan rolls his eyes.

Then Crystal and Jackie come tearing around the corner with clumsily formed snowballs and start hurling them with varying degrees of success at them, and they have to fight back. Spencer always thought snowball fights were a little bit cliché in movies and surely people didn’t have them that frequently, but he realises pretty quickly that the _reason_ they’re in so many movies is because they’re _awesome_. The snow stings sharp against his face and every once in a while Crystal and Jackie will get in a good throw that slams hard against his chest. Mostly he and Ryan are winning, until Ryan gets overexcited in a way disturbingly similar to Brendon and climbs onto Spencer’s back, winding long, skinny arms around his neck and throwing snowballs atop his “mighty steed,” Crystal puts in, giggling.

After that, Spencer and Ryan lose pretty fast.

*

The house has varying levels of reception on different levels; Ryan spends an uncomfortable half hour crouched in the corner of their bedroom, not daring to move a centimetre in case he disturbs the texts being sent to and fro, while Spencer sprawls on his bed and tries not to laugh, having neglected to tell him that the room next door has perfect reception. He goes in there a while after lunch anyway, with Ryan trailing after him, and calls Brendon.

Brendon picks up with, “You fucking assholes, I still can’t believe you took off without me.”

“Hey, it’s not our fault your parents think Christmas is a family time,” Spencer protests, and Brendon makes a grumbly noise that makes Spencer giggle and put the phone on speaker so Ryan can hear.

“My whole house is disgusting,” Brendon informs them. “It looks like Santa’s entire household threw up in here.”

“Brendon?” Ryan says. “I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, dude, but Santa’s not real.”

“Ha, ha, fuck you,” Brendon says cheerfully. “I’m pretty close to strangling myself with some tinsel, Ross, don’t play cutsie with me. You guys have no idea how lucky you are to have a normal family.”

Spencer winces and turns to Ryan automatically. Ryan’s lips are pressed together tight, his face white, and Spencer swallows hard. From the phone, Brendon’s voice sounds tinny and a little annoyed.

“Don’t, Ryan,” he says. “I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s Christmas, and you’ve got Spencer. Okay?”

There’s silence for a moment and then Ryan nods jerkily and says, “Okay.”

*

They go out into the snow early the next morning, before the twins have descended upon the front yard to inflict snowball fights and deformed snowmen on it. The snow is already quite thick on the ground and continues falling slowly around them. It catches on Spencer’s eyelashes and prickles against his skin, and Spencer remembers reading somewhere that the sensations for extreme heat and extreme cold are the same, travel the same nerve pathways, and only feel different because you learn to distinguish them by context as a child. He can’t remember the book, which makes him think it was probably Ryan who read it, and just told him.

Ryan’s shoulders are hunched up and he’s frowning slightly as he walks; he’s pretty silent when Spencer talks about school, about Brendon and Brent ditching their last class and coming to Spencer’s school and somehow managing to convince the receptionist that they were Spencer’s cousins, that Spencer had to go home immediately for a family emergency. Ryan smiles in all the appropriate places but doesn’t really say anything, and he still looks young, he still looks exactly the same as he did in high school, only now he doesn’t have any stories about his day at school to tell in return.

Spencer wants to ask if Ryan wishes he was living at the dorms instead of driving to college every day, but he knows _why_ Ryan isn’t in the dorms and he’s not sure if it’s the best thing to bring up. The topic is a bit too depressing for vacation, Spencer decides, and this vacation is going to be awesome. When Ryan’s not at college and Spencer’s not at school they both always seem to have work to do, and it’s almost as if the only time they see each other these days is band practice. It’s not just that, Spencer knows, but it’s so much less than it used to be and he can’t lie and pretend he’s not secretly glad to have Ryan all to himself for a couple of weeks, up here in the snow, far away from the stress of school and the band and Ryan’s dad.

Maybe Ryan gets wind of his thoughts anyway because he says, slowly, “It’s still so weird that I’m at college, you know. It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Mmmn?” Spencer prompts, and pushes his hair out of his eyes, squints at Ryan. Ryan has his hands in his pockets, is standing a little way away with his shoulders hunched up against the softly falling snow. The whole landscape is so much whiter than Spencer is used to, and in his black hoodie and jeans Ryan looks clear-cut and detached from the ground he is standing on, like he’s been photoshopped in.

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “I guess because I’m still living at home.”

“Are you going to stay?” Spencer asks, a little tentatively. “I mean, for all of college?”

“I hope,” Ryan says slowly, “that I don’t have to go for much longer. The band, you know. But if it doesn’t – if I decide to keep going, then. I don’t know. I hope not. But I guess it depends on my dad.”

“Okay,” Spencer says, and he walks closer to Ryan, making crisp sounding noises with each tread. Ryan turns and smiles at him, and Spencer breathes out a mist into the air. He says, “You’re doing really good,” and Ryan shrugs, but looks slightly pleased. He seems even paler than normally out here in this white world, skin thin and fragile-looking. He’s still moving in that slow, tired way but the bags under his eyes are less noticeable today, and Spencer is fiercely glad that Ryan’s here with them, that Spencer can make sure he’s okay for a while.

“It’s really fucking cold,” Ryan says, and smiles. Spencer unwinds his scarf from his neck and hands it over.

*

Spencer walks in and Ryan’s curled up in the corner of their room that gets reception, phone presses to his ear. He looks quiet and content and when Spencer walks in he looks up and smiles, mouths _Brendon_. Spencer nods and goes to his bag, starts searching through for the book his dad wanted to borrow.

“Fuck yeah,” Ryan says and laughs, and Spencer stops looking in favour of watching Ryan for a moment. Ryan’s grinning and he has both hands curled around the phone, pressing it to his cheek like it’s something special.

When Brent first brought Brendon to practice, Brendon had been small and terrified and practically vibrating with energy and anxiety to please, and Spencer’s first thought had been _oh God, Ryan’s gonna eat him alive_. Brendon seemed like a whole bunch of things packaged into one person in order to annoy Ryan, and Spencer had been tense the whole first practice.

Only somehow, Ryan had _liked_ Brendon. He’d given up staring in shocked horror at Brendon halfway through the practice, declared that Brendon was a really good musician and should definitely be part of the band and then proceeded to befriend him. He spent as much time in Brendon’s personal space as Brendon did in everyone else’s, and headed out with him or brought him over nearly as much as he did with Spencer.

Spencer had asked him about it eventually, curious and off-guard and maybe a tiny bit jealous at this new, amazing friend, and Ryan had shrugged. “He’s just really nice,” Ryan had said. “Don’t you think so?”

“Yeah,” Spencer said. “Yeah, but like, no offence, he’s not usually the kind of guy you’d want to hang out with.”

“I know,” Ryan said. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and looked almost anxious. “I think that’s my loss on some levels, probably. But also…” He stopped, looking a little embarrassed, and Spencer waited.

“He’s really lonely, Spence,” Ryan said finally. “I like him and I’m not going to do _any_ thing ‘cos I feel sorry for someone, but he’s – he’s really fucking lonely, and Brendon shouldn’t be. I mean. I don’t know why people don’t want to be his friend or whatever. He’s a really awesome friend. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” Spencer had agreed, and that had been that.

Spencer stands up with his book and walks out of the room. He closes the door to Ryan laughing and saying, “Yeah, miss you too.”

*

“So,” Ryan says, sprawled out on the floor next to Spencer, tapping his hand along with the music. They’ve commandeered the portable CD player, sneaked it up from the twins’ room while they were out building forts in the snow, and Pete Wentz is screaming quietly in the background, low enough that it won’t piss Spencer’s parents off.

“So?” Spencer wonders, a little confused because they’re halfway through a conversation about what the best Blink 182 album so far is, and Spencer is about to pull out his trump card for _Enema_. He’d be annoyed except for how used he is to Ryan’s wandering mind, how quickly Ryan loses his train of thought, and really, it’s easier to just go with it.

“New Year resolutions,” Ryan says decisively, and snaps his fingers. “Go.”

“Dude,” Spencer says, “It’s still four days until Christmas. Aren’t you a bit ahead of yourself?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, “but, like. You’ve gotta have good ones in place.”

“Oh?” Spencer yawns, turning his head so that it’s muffled slightly by his shoulder. “What are yours, then?”

“I’m gonna give up smoking,” Ryan says promptly, which is ridiculous, because Ryan has, like, three cigarettes a year and usually only when he wants to impress someone. Spencer tells him so and Ryan exhales, says, “But it makes my breath stink when I do.” He kicks his heels against the floorboards and adds, “Okay, then, how about – getting the band going properly. And, like, stop dating girls who’ll cheat on me, I guess.”

Spencer bumps his shoulder against Ryan’s in a way that would probably be a lot smoother and effortlessly manly except he’s on his back, and he has to squirm awkwardly around on the floor to do it. Ryan tilts his head and smiles at him, though, small but there. “Your turn,” he says.

“I don’t know,” Spencer says. “The band?”

“That’s mine,” Ryan says.

“It’s not _your_ band,” Spencer protests.

“No,” Ryan agrees, “but it’s _my_ resolution. Get your own.”

“Umn,” Spencer says. “Well, get a date maybe.” He tips Ryan a leery wink and puts on a decrepit voice, a cross between his grandma and Kermit the Frog, croaks, “The kids tell me getting laid is nice.”

Ryan laughs. He says, “Okay, okay, so we get you a girlfriend.”

“Um,” Spencer says, uncomfortably. “Or, like. Whatever.”

Ryan screws up his forehead for a moment, in his _hang on, I’m thinking_ way, and Spencer shifts slightly, already regretting talking. He adds quickly, in a rush, “Anyway, I’m pretty sure I can get one myself, but thanks for all your _expertise_ , dude—”

“Wait,” Ryan says slowly, and Spencer wishes for the first time in years that he’d sometimes have a bit of damn cadence in his voice. “So, uh. You’re gay?”

“No,” Spencer says quickly, and then stops. “I think I’m – I think bi, maybe? Because, it’s not like I don’t like girls. Girls are awesome. I just – I haven’t even, with a guy. I just think maybe I’d like to. Or whatever. Or—”

“Spencer,” Ryan says calmly, “You’re babbling.”

“Right,” Spencer says, and laughs stupidly, stilted in the room. “Sorry. I’ll just. Let’s pretend we never had that conversation.”

“Okay,” Ryan says easily, and then he raises himself on one elbow and shifts his weight onto his side, leans down and kisses Spencer matter-of-factly on the lips, a dry peck that lasts for a second before he’s moving back. Spencer gapes up at him; the gap of space between them is suddenly much larger than it seemed a few seconds ago, now that Spencer knows exactly how close Ryan can be.

Ryan doesn’t say anything, just blinks down at him, the slightest bit of smug contentment in his lopsided smile. Spencer wonders why he is eternally destined to be the idiotic sounding one in this exchange and then thinks _fuck it_ and says, voice just a little unsteady, “Ryan?”

“It’s the perfect idea,” Ryan says, and slumps back down onto his back, his whole arm pressed up against Spencer’s. Spencer tells himself, firmly, that he is not a thirteen year old girl, and there is no reason for his insides to get all squirmy on him. This is _Ryan_. “Because, okay, I’ve been,” he pauses, cheeks slightly flushed, and he doesn’t look Spencer in the eye when he says, “wondering too, a bit. But, I mean, it’s – it’s not like you can talk to other guys about it and work stuff out that way, and the internet’s kind of… scarring, and this way—”

“Ryan,” Spencer says. “Are you asking me to be, like, your gay sex buddy?”

Ryan rolls onto his stomach and smirks down at Spencer, eyes bright. “Well,” he says. “I was going to offer to teach you how to kiss, but hey, sure.”

“I can so kiss,” Spencer says belligerently. “I am a good kisser! How was I supposed to prove that before, that was like a _grandma_ kiss.”

“Whatever,” Ryan scoffs. “As if you’ve ever been kissed, dude—”

“I _have_ ,” Spencer says fervently. “I told you. Katie Brooks, at—”

“Sara Gleason’s party, I know,” Ryan finishes, bored. “Fascinating how you managed to make out with someone at the one party I didn’t go to with you.”

“Shut up,” Spencer says, and punches Ryan weakly in the arm. “I did.”

“Okay, fine,” Ryan says, and he shifts closer, looking straight down into Spencer’s face. Spencer can feel Ryan’s breath fanning out against his cheek. “Have you ever kissed a guy?” Spencer swallows, and Ryan laughs softly. “Yeah,” he says. “Exactly.”

Spencer says, faintly, “I don’t know where you think I’d—”

“I haven’t, either,” Ryan says quietly. “We’ll work it out. It’s always better if we do shit together, you know that.”

“Yes,” Spencer says automatically, because that’s the one thing he doesn’t have to over-think. He hesitates and says, “So we’d just—”

“Figure stuff out,” Ryan finishes. “Yeah. I think – that would be cool, right?”

“Right,” Spencer says. He rolls onto his stomach too, shifting slightly so that their faces are tilted together. Ryan looks at him almost curiously and Spencer bites his lip without thinking about it because the concept of this is so weird and it feels so normal, and then his stomach does this slow, warm roll when Ryan’s eyes drop to his mouth. He wonders if Ryan's been looking already, and then feels dumb.

Ryan says, “So,” and Spencer wonders if he should close his eyes. Ryan is very, very close, and he’s been this close before without Spencer thinking twice about it, but before he didn’t notice those flecks of hazel in Ryan’s eyes.

“Dinner time!” Spencer’s mom yells up the stairs. “That means _now_ , Jaclyn!”

Spencer breathes out in a rush and grins, and Ryan stands up and smiles too, offering him a hand up.

“Okay, so,” Ryan says, tugging him to his feet.

“Dinner,” Spencer says.

“And then?” Ryan looks slightly unsure for a moment, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Hey,” Spencer says, and shrugs. “We’re on vacation. We’ve got plenty of time.”

“Awesome,” Ryan says, and then, “I’m _starving_ ,” and they go down the stairs two at a time, shoving at each other to get in front, breathless and laughing.

*

Dinner is strange, at first; Spencer feels too aware of Ryan sitting next to him, their arms very carefully not touching, and he wonders if he is meant to show some sort of affection that he doesn’t normally, if his parents can tell, can somehow look at them and just _know_ , which is ridiculous but not entirely out of the realms of possibility for his mom. After a while, though, Ryan says something that is entirely stupid and Spencer has to kick him in the shin and tell him so, and then it’s back to normal, Ryan’s elbow bumping against his when they eat because they’ve both always been kind of bad with cutlery, gangly and awkward now in ways disturbingly similar to when they were five years old.

After dessert, Spencer washes the dishes and Ryan dries. Spencer says, in a low voice, “So what, you want to—”

“When your family is asleep,” Ryan says, and smiles a little, in the corner of his mouth. “Or we’ll be freaked the whole time that they’re listening.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says slowly, and then smirks a little bit, catching Ryan’s eye. “Or,” he says, “We could just go up after we’ve done this, and turn some music on and keep the door closed.”

Ryan blinks, makes a considering face. “Well,” he says. “Or that.”

Ryan’s just putting the last few dishes away, though, when Crystal and Jackie dance through the kitchen, waving a DVD over their heads. “Look what _I’ve_ got,” Crystal sing-songs, thrusting it under Spencer’s nose. “Your _favourite_.”

“Okay,” Spencer says firmly. “Desperately Seeking Susan is _not_ my favourite movie, I just—”

“You’re in love with Madonna,” Ryan says sadly. “It’s okay, Spencer. Tell me the truth. I can handle it.”

Spencer grins. “Like you can talk,” he says. “You’re obsessed with, like, every single one of her outfits, which is more than a _little_ bit—”

“They’re cool outfits!” Ryan protests.

“They are,” Jackie agrees a little dreamily, seemingly undisturbed that her opinion concurs with that of an eighteen year old guy’s. “You guys gonna come watch, or what?”

Ryan and Spencer exchange a look. Spencer says, hesitantly, “We were going to…”

“Madonna, Spence,” Ryan says, eyes bright and dancing, and Spencer throws his hands up in the air.

“Right,” he says. “Of course. Lead the way.”

He and Ryan and the twins squeeze up together on the lounge for optimum viewing position of the television, and Jackie produces a huge duvet, presumably stolen from one of the bedrooms, to spread over them all. Ryan sits with his legs half over Spencer’s lap, head bent down to his shoulder, and it’s so normal that Spencer kind of questions if their conversation before dinner even happened.

They put on Romeo and Juliet after Desperately Seeking Susan is done, and the twins go to bed before Juliet dies. Spencer asks if Ryan wants to head upstairs too when he catches him yawning, but Ryan shakes his head, says you can’t just watch _one_ Baz Luhrmann film, which is cue for Spencer to put Moulin Rouge on yet again.

He wonders if maybe Ryan’s changed his mind, if he doesn’t want to do the whole… experimenting thing after all, if he’s worried about it messing up their friendship or if Spencer’s incredibly unattractive or something. Then Ryan shifts and mumbles something warm and contented in Spencer’s neck, and Spencer realises that despite the twins’ vacated positions on the couch, they’re still squeezed together.

Spencer rearranges himself just slightly, enough that he can stretch his legs out behind Ryan. He closes his eyes for a moment when Christian jumps on top of the elephant’s head, just for a second, and when he opens them again the TV screen is blue, the room dark and Ryan is asleep next to him, arm heavy on Spencer’s chest. His jeans are still new enough to be a little uncomfortable to sleep in, and his dick is half-hard, which could be embarrassing in the morning, but Spencer can’t quite bring himself to move. He closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.

*

They wake up late the next morning, the time on the DVD player blinking 10:48 in red at them. Spencer yawns and straightens his cramped back, jostling Ryan as he does so, and Ryan makes small, pitiful noises that indicate his displeasure at being woken up. Spencer knuckles sleep out of his eyes and says, “Morning.”

“Mmmph,” Ryan says, and sits upright slowly, clutching at his neck and groaning. “Oh my God,” he says. “This must be what dying feels like.”

“Yeah, intense neck stiffness,” Spencer says dryly. “That’s what they tell me.” Ryan groans again and Spencer rolls his eyes. “Breakfast?” he suggests.

“Yup,” Ryan says, and pulls himself upright, padding off towards the bathroom. “Make me some toast!” he yells over his shoulder and Spencer flips him the bird but heads into the kitchen and puts four pieces of bread in the toaster anyway.

Spencer’s dad wanders in while they’re eating. He says, “Your mother and I are taking the twins grocery shopping in town in about twenty minutes. Do you guys want to come?”

Spencer looks up and goes to make a well? face at Ryan only to find Ryan already watching him. His eyes are slightly darker than usual, his face blank, and Spencer’s throat is suddenly dry. “Uh,” he says, picking up his coffee and sipping from it in what he hopes is a casual way and not an _I think my best friend is propositioning me_ way. “Nah, I don’t really think being trapped in a car with the twins for another long drive sounds like much fun.”

His dad cuffs him over the back of the head lightly but laughs and says, “Okay. It’s a forty minute drive into town, so we’ll be a couple of hours. I think we’re going to explore a bit. Don’t burn the house down.”

Spencer says, “Jeez, okay,” and finishes his toast, reaches out and takes Ryan’s plate without checking to see if Ryan’s done too. He puts them on the sink and says, “So, I guess we’ll just hang out.”

“Uh-huh,” his dad says, settling at the table with the paper open. Ryan looks at Spencer and Spencer looks at Ryan and then they just walk out of the room and up the stairs, not saying a word until they’re halfway up the first flight and Spencer starts laughing.

“What,” Ryan says, but his eyes have gone all big the way they do when he doesn’t get a joke but doesn’t want anyone to know. “What, what,” and Spencer keeps laughing until Ryan’s mouth twitches and he thumps Spencer in the shoulder softly, says, “Dick.”

“Whatever,” Spencer says. They pause outside Crystal and Jackie’s bedroom, because Hanson is blaring at an obnoxiously loud volume from the CD player they’ve clearly stolen back from Ryan and Spencer’s room. Spencer makes a face and then bangs the door twice. “Hey!” he says. “Dad says you guys are going into town now!”

“We’re just getting _ready_!” Jackie bellows back at the door and Spencer shrugs, turns away. Ryan is already going up the stairs and when Spencer gets into their room Ryan’s standing kind of awkwardly, watching him with this half-smile. Spencer closes the door, and the room is suddenly a lot smaller.

“Uh,” Spencer says. The girls’ music is still clearly audible, drifting up towards them, and someone wailing in the background _can you tell me who will still care?_ isn’t exactly helping Spencer’s sudden attack of nerves. “So.”

“So,” Ryan repeats, and scratches his head a bit. He walks towards Spencer and Spencer turns to him, so they’re facing each other, still a few feet apart. Spencer scratches at his wrist in order to do something with his hands and Ryan shuffles his feet in this weird, childlike way he hasn’t done since he was six.

Spencer says, “This is stupid. If we just—”

“Get it over with, yeah, yeah,” Ryan says, and they both step forward a little awkwardly. Ryan doesn’t look like he’s going to move so Spencer leans in, opens his mouth and then loses his courage, settling for pecking Ryan on the mouth like Ryan had last night, only he accidentally makes an embarrassing smoochy noise like his great aunt when he does so. Ryan blinks at him and Spencer turns bright red.

“Uh,” Spencer says.

“That was it?” Ryan asks, brow furrowed. “That was like, your amazing kissing technique? Dude, I’ve got to tell you, if that’s what you did to Katie Brooks, it doesn’t count as making out.”

“Shut up,” Spencer says, cheeks stupidly hot, and temper rising slightly. Why does he have to be the one to do all the work, seriously. “You had your eyes open, you were fucking staring at me. You freaked me out.”

“Oh,” Ryan says, sounding confused. “Well, okay.” He shuts his eyes and waits; Spencer blinks at him a couple of times and then starts giggling. The whole situation is kind of funny, and downstairs he can just hear his sisters singing along with _plant a flower, plant a rose_ and yeah, forget funny, Ryan standing there all glum-faced with his eyes closed is fucking hilarious.

 _“ _What_ ,” Ryan says, and opens his eyes to glare at Spencer. “See, what was that—”_

“Sorry,” Spencer says, between giggles, “Sorry, you just looked really – mmf.” Ryan has his mouth pressed clumsily against Spencer’s, open and still. He’s not moving at all and it’s just kind of wet, and maybe a little bit suffocating. Spencer breaks away and screws up his nose. “Dude, okay, that was worse than mine.”

“I don’t know,” Ryan says awkwardly, his cheeks are slightly pink. “I’m kind of – it’s weird. Being with you. I don’t know, maybe this was a bad—”

Spencer says, “Hey, come on, I thought we were gonna help each other out,” and then he surges forward without thinking and kisses Ryan hard, banging his mouth up against Ryan’s and pushing him backwards into the wall. He’s still not entirely sure what he’s doing but it suddenly seems a lot cleverer to at least pretend he does, or fake it until something turns out right, and maybe it’s a really good idea because Ryan’s mouth is warm under his and Ryan actually kisses back, hands coming up to clench in Spencer’s shirt and drag him closer. Spencer puts his hands on Ryan’s hips and Ryan makes this small, unexpected noise and opens his mouth and oh hey, there’s Ryan’s tongue.

It’s weird, and Spencer keeps getting these little shocks like, _Ryan Ross just bit my bottom lip_ , and _Ryan Ross has his hand in the back pocket of my jeans_ , but also it’s kind of amazingly awesome and this is proper making out, against a wall with Ryan licking into his mouth and breathing raggedly, chest rising and falling rapidly against Spencer’s. Spencer squirms closer and their foreheads bump and he accidentally knocks his teeth against Ryan’s, but Ryan just makes the smallest, grumpy noise and then pulls him closer.

Spencer is just congratulating himself on what an entirely perfect idea this was (conveniently forgetting that it was actually Ryan’s) when Ryan pulls away and squints suspiciously at Spencer. He asks, voice rough, "Did you time kissing me with the chorus?"

"Oh my God," Spencer says.

“No, really,” Ryan says, and rocks his hips hard against Spencer’s very deliberately, just once. Spencer can feel himself getting hard and he drops his head slightly, cheek brushing against Ryan’s, breathing against Ryan’s neck and doing his best to ignore his best friend’s stupidity. Ryan just grins slightly though – and Spencer feels the edge of it against his face, oh God oh God – and kisses Spencer again. Spencer hums out approval and Ryan’s mouth slides away, hot and wet on the corner of Spencer’s mouth when he mumbles, “So, like, are pop boybands your kink? Do you need me to wear a blond wig?”

"Oh my _God_ ," Spencer repeats, and pushes Ryan closer to the wall, kissing him hard and messy, a little sloppy (fuck, he thinks, fuck, he really has no idea what he's doing) and Ryan licks into his mouth, tilts his chin up, one arm going around Spencer’s back, fingers digging in hard through his shirt.

"Mmmbop. Doo-bop," Ryan whispers against his mouth, and starts laughing uncontrollably, which is both uncomfortable and weird and _amazingly awesome_ when Spencer can feel the vibration against his _face_ , what the fuck. "Doo-bop. Doo."

"Shut the fuck up," Spencer says, and kisses him again to make sure he does. Ryan’s breathing hard against Spencer’s mouth and when Spencer rocks forward again he can feel Ryan’s dick, hard against him and he grinds their crotches together and Ryan gasps and shit, yes, that’s awesome.

Downstairs, the music switches off abruptly, Ryan freezes, jolting his body up awkwardly against Spencer’s, and Spencer topples over. For a moment everything is horribly, horribly still, and then Crystal shouts up, “Bye, Spence! Bye, Ryan!” and the twins’ footsteps clatter down the stairs and away from them. Neither Ryan nor Spencer move until faintly, they hear the front door slam and the car start up.

Then Ryan looks down at him and raises an eyebrow. “You kinda fell over there,” he says slowly, with a tinge of disbelief as if he’s not sure what to do when presented with this much mocking material.

“Shut up,” Spencer grumbles, and pulls himself to his feet. Ryan’s mouth is red and swollen and his hair is sticking up everywhere and Spencer stares at him and then laughs a little shakily, and Ryan grins back at him, big and warm like he hasn’t smiled in months.

“See?” he says. “I told you this’d be a good idea.”

*

It’s still a good idea, still a pretty fucking awesome idea, twenty minutes later when Spencer has Ryan trapped beneath him on the bed, his hands tangled in Ryan’s hair, tongue in Ryan’s mouth, and their hips lining up with every rough push together. His dick is almost painfully hard and he can feel Ryan’s against him, feels it every time they rub together in this slightly offbeat, strangled rhythm they’ve got going. Ryan is panting into his mouth and Spencer keeps making these embarrassing noises, sounds that are involuntary and not anything as sexy as porn (the good porn, anyway). They catch in his throat and Ryan swallows them, kissing him sloppily, his hands roaming, unable to settle, up against Spencer’s back and then under his shirt and then sliding into the back pockets of his jeans, tugging him down against Ryan again.

Spencer’s not sure how they ended up this way, whether there was a definite decision made for Ryan to be underneath him and whether this is how it’s going to be for – for other stuff, too, if they do that, because they didn’t make any definite plans about what to do and what not to and what was appropriate or what was just too gay (Spencer’s kind of sure by now that he himself is pretty gay, and he thinks the fact that both of them are is what the whole idea is about, but Ryan can be decidedly contradictory at times). Even the thought of actual fucking is enough to make Spencer’s mind go fuzzy, and he’s not sure if he’d actually care what his particular role in that would be. Still, though, he decides against making comments like, ‘so, you’re the girl now or what’. There’s a high chance Ryan might hit him if he said that.

Ryan winds a leg up around above Spencer’s and curls it over, pulling Spencer close. They’re not doing anything very elegant, nothing particularly smooth or even grown-up about the frantic way they’re rubbing against each other now, denim against denim and beneath that Ryan’s cock against his, but it’s still the best thing Spencer’s ever done in his life and he laughs breathlessly against Ryan’s mouth, mouth stretching into a stupid grin. He pulls back just enough to see that Ryan’s smiling back at him, hair falling over his eyes, not needing an explanation, never needing an explanation because he’s Ryan. Spencer forces his brain to get it together enough to be slightly coherent, and forces out the word, “This,” through his teeth. Ryan nods frantically, grinds up against him again and then makes this noise, this impossible, tiny noise that Spencer’s never heard before, like a mewl that dies in Ryan’s throat, rough and small and possibly the hottest thing Spencer’s ever heard.

He lowers his head slightly and Ryan’s sinking back onto the bed, breathing hard, mouth open and red and hips still jerking up slightly. Spencer pushes down against Ryan one last time and then he’s coming too, sparks darting up his spine, mouth making wet, noiseless shapes against Ryan’s neck, and Ryan curls one hand in Spencer’s hair and drags him close. They lie there for a moment, underwear sticky and breathing ragged, and then Ryan forces out a shuddering breath and releases Spencer, pushing him up.

“Off,” he says. “My leg’s got pins and needles. Ow, fuck.”

Spencer blinks at him, eyes slightly hazy, grinning stupidly. He says, “You are so gross. In our _pants_?”

“Couldn’t be bothered taking them off,” Ryan says, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m going to have a shower, though.” He stands up and makes a face, hopping on one leg.

“I’m all sticky,” Spencer says mournfully. “Shower, yes.”

“Shotgun,” Ryan says quickly, and Spencer glowers at him for a moment before he remembers the second bathroom.

“Okay, whatever,” he says, and Ryan goes over and rummages in his suitcase, crying out triumphantly and waving a pair of clean boxers over his head. Spencer rolls his eyes and then steps closer. “Hey,” he says. “Hey.”

“What?” Ryan asks, standing up, and Spencer leans forward and cups his hand around the back of Ryan’s head, pulls him in and kisses him. Ryan kisses back and then pulls away, says, “Yeah, yeah. Come on, shower. You want to smell of spunk when your parents get home?”

“Fuck you,” Spencer says cheerfully, and Ryan makes an impatient noise and turns around, bony shoulders hunched up, but Spencer can see him smiling.

“Shower,” he says firmly, and disappears out the door. Spencer runs his hand through his hair and waits a minute before going out and down the stairs, spare jeans and underwear tucked under his arm. He turns the hot water on in the bathroom before getting undressed, knows that it takes a while to heat up, and peers at himself in the mirror while the water runs.

Hullo Spencer-Who-Has-Had-Sex,-Sort-Of, he thinks, and then laughs at how stupid the inside of his own head sounds. Really, dry humping can’t be considered proper sex, but they both came, they totally both had actual Orgasms with a capital O, and it wasn’t because of their own hands, so Spencer is… sort of not a virgin now, he guesses. Maybe, like, a half-virgin, although he supposes that Ryan would tell him virginity is kind of an absolute state; you either are one or you’re not.

Spencer grins brightly at himself anyway and draws a smiley face in the mist fogging up the mirror as the water gets hot. He strips off his clothes, making a face when he peels off his underwear (because, yeah, seriously, gross) and climbs into the shower. The general coldness of the weather here makes hot water so much more appreciated and Spencer hums out approval, closing his eyes and tilting his face up to the spray.

After a while, he realises that he can’t just stand around under the shower all day, and he reaches for the soap, washing himself off. He’s more thorough than usual, careful not to neglect his ass or pubes and even though he can’t really think about why he’s doing that without his cheeks heating up (or his dick twitching, and seriously, being a teenage guy kind of sucks sometimes) he wants to be clean, at least.

By the time he’s dry and dressed again (which takes somewhat longer than usual; he ends up jerking off in the shower again, head tilted back against the wall and remembering kissing Ryan, Ryan’s angular hips arching up against his, the noises Ryan made) Ryan’s already downstairs, washing his boxers in the laundry sink. Spencer blinks at him and Ryan smiles.

“Come on,” he says. “They’ll have to be dry by the time your parents get back or they’ll start wondering stuff.”

“Right,” Spencer says, and follows Ryan’s lead. It’s weird to remember that they still have at least two hours before Spencer’s family gets back, and it’s certainly weird to spend some of the time washing underwear at a sink with Ryan, their elbows jostling, but afterwards they lay them in front of the fire and settle down to watch Oprah, which Ryan inevitably gets addicted to during any school vacation. Ryan is more relaxed than usual, sprawling languidly across the couch and resting his chin on Spencer’s shoulder, and Spencer ends up dozing off in the middle of the show, just as the two couples start screaming at each other.

When he wakes up his family is home and their underwear is gone; Ryan winks at him and leans over the back of the sofa, lets Spencer’s sisters ramble about how amazing the holiday decorations are.

Spencer’s phone buzzes in his jeans pocket, and he opens it to find a message from Brendon: _how ur vacation going, dickface?_

 _fucking awesome_ , Spencer texts back fervently, and beams.

*

Ryan pulls out his acoustic that night after dinner and entertains Spencer’s sisters by playing as many of their favourites as he can, sitting on the floor with his legs crossed. When they ask, he sings along with his head bowed over the guitar and his hair falling over his face, in his low, rusty voice and Spencer hums along, takes up the choruses with him so that he doesn’t feel too inadequate, because Spencer knows that internally, Ryan is comparing every note to the way Brendon would sing it. Ryan is one of the most arrogant people Spencer knows, and it pisses him off to no extent some days, but Ryan also has an equally annoying thing where if he recognises someone is a lot better than him at something, he immediately decides he is no good at the thing in question whatsoever. It’s been a while since Spencer’s heard Ryan singing deliberately, rather than just joining in with the radio or humming absently to himself in the mornings.

His parents disappear to some corner of the house and so it’s just the kids that night, Spencer sprawled out on the couch and tapping his foot in time to Ryan’s music, making small, pained noises when Ryan wanders out of time. At around half past eleven, Jackie asks sleepily what’s going on with their band, and Ryan looks up and meets Spencer’s eyes and smiles, and Spencer’s stomach does this slow roll that didn’t use to happen when Ryan smiled at him.

“It’s good,” Spencer says, and then laughs stupidly. “Ryan’s been talking to – you know Pete Wentz?”

“From Fall Out Boy?” Jackie breathes, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around her knees. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, and nods a little jerkily. “On, like, instant messenger and stuff? He likes our music. He said maybe, when me and Spence get back from this vacation, he’ll fly down and see us play.”

“Wow,” Crystal says. “That’s really – wow. How come you never told us, Spence?”

“I told Mom and Dad,” Spencer says, and shrugs. Ryan laughs unexpectedly and shifts closer to the couch, butting his head against the side until Spencer blinks down at him in confusion and puts his hand on Ryan’s head, pets absently at his hair.

“Spencer’s a pessimist,” Ryan says. “He doesn’t believe it’s gonna happen.”

“I do too,” Spencer protests, because he _does_. He tugs Ryan’s hair in punishment and says, “I’m just more cautious than you. Brendon would be out partying every night like he’s already a rockstar if we went by your version of events.”

“Like Brendon even knows how to party,” Ryan says, and Jackie giggles while Crystal glares (she’s had an enormous crush on Brendon since he first came over to Spencer’s house).

“Don’t be mean to Brendon,” Spencer says, pushing his hands up above his head as he stretches and yawning. Ryan doesn’t say anything, just picks up his guitar and starts playing Boys Will Be Boys, and he’s quiet again for the rest of the night. When they finally head up to bed he brushes his teeth for ages until Spencer’s almost asleep by the time he comes in, the bathroom light next door switching off, and he moves quietly through the bedroom, slipping under his covers without a sound.

“Night,” Spencer says, words slurring as he tries to wake himself up enough to talk, but Ryan only mumbles a half-hearted goodnight back at him and rolls over. Spencer wonders vaguely and irritably if he’s somehow gotten pissed at something, but in the morning he’s only the usual level of grumpy, and when Spencer’s dad gets annoyed at Spencer for drumming absently on the breakfast table Ryan laughs, eyes bright.

“He can’t help it,” Ryan says, and starts humming the melody that accompanies the beat, picking up All The Small Things from where Spencer left off.

*

They’re making out again, late that night with Spencer’s bedside table’s lamp for light and his family sleeping downstairs. It’s as good as Spencer remembers, them biting at each other’s mouths, rougher than Spencer would have expected kissing was, only this time Ryan is on top. He straddles Spencer’s hips and leans down slightly to meet where Spencer is half-sitting up on his elbows, and it’s slower this time, Ryan touching him in a surer, easier way, like he knows what he’s doing all of a sudden. It’s not that simple, Spencer knows, and not for Ryan, either, because he can feel the way Ryan shudders, whole body vibrating, when Spencer slides his mouth away from Ryan’s and bites at his collarbone, drags his mouth over Ryan’s throat (always careful not to leave marks, because fuck, Ryan mysteriously getting hickeys in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t have been the easiest thing in the world to explain to his parents).

Ryan pushes his hands up under Spencer’s t-shirt and Spencer breathes in sharply at Ryan’s cold fingers on his stomach, his hips. Ryan breaks away from his mouth and whispers raggedly, urgently, like it can’t wait a second, “Come on, your shirt, take it off,” and tugs at the bottom of the cloth until Spencer lifts his arms and lets Ryan pull it off.

Thinking about people looking at him like this before has made him uncomfortable, aware of the pudge of his belly and how pale his skin is, but Ryan’s seen him shirtless hundreds of times and the only difference now is the way Ryan is looking at him, eyes raking over Spencer’s skin, dark and hungry and it’s weird, this is all weird, it hasn’t stopped being weird, but Spencer doesn’t mind Ryan looking at him at all.

Spencer breathes, “Now you,” and Ryan looks surprised, as if he’d forgotten that he was still wearing anything at all. He curls his fingers in the hem of his worn t-shirt (hoodie long since discarded, neither of them really caring about – or even noticing – the crappy heating in their room) and pulls it up, and it’s clearly not intended to be sexy at all, more impatient than anything else, but Spencer’s breath catches in his throat all the same.

Ryan gets tangled up in the old Fall Out Boy shirt, material twisted around his head and while he struggles free Spencer leans forward and runs his hands over Ryan’s skin, drops his head and mouths lightly at Ryan’s nipple. Ryan gasps out a mixture of Spencer’s name and a curse word, arching his back and Spencer licks once, deliberately, before Ryan is completely free of his shirt and bearing down on Spencer to kiss him furiously, mouth hot and fierce.

Spencer breathes out, “We’re gonna get all gross again, aren’t we,” and Ryan hums quiet, pleased agreement against his mouth. Spencer considers this for a moment and says, “You know we’re not gonna be able to shower. It’ll wake everyone else up.”

“Oh,” Ryan says, and pulls away, scrunches up his mouth the way he does when he’s thinking, only it looks very different now that his lips are red and swollen and his hair is sticking up at ridiculous angles. I did that, Spencer thinks, and has to bite back the stupid urge to giggle. “Hey,” Ryan says, “Maybe it’ll be easier if,” and then his fingers are on Spencer’s zip, quick and nimble, tugging his jeans down and freeing his cock.

Spencer gapes up at him but Ryan’s already busy, pushing down his own jeans, and then he’s pulling Spencer up towards him with a steely hand around Spencer’s bicep and kissing him again. He wriggles closer on Spencer’s lap and suddenly he’s _touching_ Spencer’s dick, fingers dry and hot and long, and Spencer lets his head loll back and groans, disturbingly loud in the quiet night. Ryan shushes him but he’s breathing hard and Spencer jolts, suddenly, because Ryan is rubbing his own dick up against Spencer’s, curling his hand around both of them and moving as best he can.

It’s dry and just a little too tight at first, caught between satisfying and uncomfortable, and Ryan makes a face and then lifts his palm up, offers it to Spencer. Spencer stares blankly at him and Ryan rolls his eyes, says, “Whatever, that could have been totally hot if you’d gotten with the program,” and then licks his own palm, and when he wraps it around their dicks again it’s slick and perfect. Spencer groans, thrusting his hips up and that makes Ryan mumble something to himself and move too, until they settle into an awkward kind of rhythm.

Brendon likes to talk about Ryan’s freakishly big hand span and make vague innuendos about it, but even so it’s not quite enough and after a little while Spencer moves to help him, wrapping his hand around them too so that their fingers are overlapping and they’re both breathing hard, thrusting up into each other’s and their own grip. It’s hot and intense and such a strange mix of someone’s skin so close to yours and feeling the same things in different ways, and pretty soon Spencer’s rhythm starts to get sloppy and he has to tilt forward to muffle the sounds he’s making in Ryan’s shoulder.

All of a sudden it’s too much, Ryan touching him and his own hand and both their dicks and his mouth still warm and tingling slightly from kissing before and the sight of Ryan so close and so unlike what he’s always been for Spencer, and Spencer grunts something incoherent out and comes, all over both their hands and his own stomach. Ryan’s hand speeds up, sliding more with the sticky mess of Spencer’s come, and through the haze of his orgasm Spencer recognises a sound. It’s utterly bizarre in some ways that he can distinguish it, that he knows so certainly and so irrevocably what Ryan sounds like when he’s coming, but it’s there and Spencer knows it and he’ll always know it. He tilts forward, presses his lips clumsily against the corner of Ryan’s mouth so that Ryan comes with Spencer kissing him.

Everything is still for a moment; Spencer goes to ease Ryan off of him but Ryan reaches out, curves a hand around Spencer’s neck and tugs him forward so that their foreheads are touching. Their breathing sounds together in the golden glow of the small lamp on Spencer’s bedside table, and Spencer is not entirely sure what Ryan wants so he stays still and quiet with Ryan’s hand firm on his neck. Eventually Ryan sighs and looks up and smiles, goes a little cross-eyed trying to look properly at Spencer this close. Spencer laughs and Ryan clambers off his lap, and Spencer marvels about how quickly the strange, awkward grace that descends upon Ryan when he’s arching up under Spencer’s hands disperses, especially when Ryan trips getting off the bed and lands heavily on his ankle, grimacing and hopping around for a while.

Spencer doesn’t laugh. Spencer’s brain is still a happy haze that cheers loudly (and, Spencer hopes, inwardly) every time it thinks about his dick and Ryan and Ryan’s hands and the bed and the room and the whole damn vacation. He doesn’t really understand how quickly Ryan can change from the guy panting under his hands, making those fucking _noises_ to his half-dressed best friend again, hopping around on one foot because he has low pain tolerance. Maybe Ryan could give him tips, because Spencer’s brain clearly needs several minutes to start working properly again.

Ryan says, “I’m just gonna go and,” and makes a helpless gesture at his stomach, which has dried come on it. Spencer blinks at it and wonders whose it is and then thinks, with a slow curl of warmth in his stomach, _probably both of us_. Ryan rolls his eyes at him and Spencer rolls his eyes back, stands up and follows Ryan into the bathroom, where they wash their hands and swab gingerly with damp toilet paper at each other’s stomachs.

“So,” Ryan says, and Spencer laughs for no reason at all.

“So, yeah,” he says back, and Ryan makes an exasperated noise and hits him lightly on the shoulder.

“Let’s go to bed,” Ryan says. “I’m tired.”

“Me too,” Spencer says and yawns, closing his eyes. He moves to turn his face into Ryan’s shoulder, maybe tuck his face into Ryan’s warm neck and be still again for a moment, but Ryan is already padding back into their bedroom. Spencer follows him and Ryan smiles sleepily from under the blanket on his twin bed.

“Goodnight,” Ryan says. Spencer switches out the light.

*

Christmas Eve dawns grey and cold and snowing again, and Ryan and Spencer lie in bed for a long time after they’ve woken up, huddled up in their separate beds and talking. Ryan pulls all his quilts around him so that he’s just a ruffled mess of hair peering bright-eyed out from under the covers and Spencer laughs at him while Ryan screws up his nose and looks bewildered and like a cross between a young child and a small, fuzzy kitten. Spencer is pretty sure most seventeen year old guys don’t use the word ‘adorable’ about their eighteen year old best friends, so he doesn’t, but he thinks it accidentally and then feels stupid.

They talk about music and Brent’s hopeless crush on his cute geometry teacher (“Gross,” Ryan says, making a face, and “She’s pretty young, apparently, for a teacher,” Spencer tells him, but Ryan insists, “ _Gross_ ,”) and Ryan’s ex-girlfriend and what a bitch she was. Spencer tries talking about school for a while but Ryan makes a face at him and says, quietly, “I don’t see why you have to go to school, anyway, you should just hang out with me,” and he doesn’t laugh when Spencer does, so Spencer drops the subject.

After a while, Spencer tells Ryan that they should get up, and Ryan makes a big deal about Spencer fetching him thick socks and a hoodie and Spencer’s scarf before he’ll crawl out from under the covers. Spencer says, “Princess,” but does it anyway, and Ryan smiles at him when he pulls on the various layers, and slides out of bed still smiling.

“Breakfast!” Spencer says. “I think I can smell bacon, come on.”

“Hey,” Ryan says, and catches his wrist when Spencer goes to walk away. Spencer turns back to him and blinks, and Ryan leans forward and kisses him. His mouth is warm and neither of them have brushed their teeth yet, so they don’t notice each other’s morning breath, and Spencer kisses him back and doesn’t wonder about how this is the first time they’ve done this without the possibility of it leading to them getting off. Spencer blinks at him when they break apart and Ryan smiles a little tentatively. “Merry Christmas,” he says.

“S’not Christmas yet,” Spencer feels obliged to point out.

“I know,” Ryan says, and they go downstairs.

*

Spencer’s family takes them out around lunchtime that day to Pike’s Peak to look at the Christmas Village, and they spend most of the day there. Spencer sticks closer to Ryan than usual because he gets a bit weird around Christmas even when he’s with Spencer and far away from his dad, and it pisses Spencer off that Ryan’s Christmases are usually so unfailingly shitty and there’s still not much he can do about it.

Ryan bad at remembering how cold it is, too, and they’ll take their jackets off in a warm store or restaurant and then Ryan will forget to put it on again when they get outside. Spencer shoves it at him until Ryan starts to laugh and forgets to put it on deliberately the next time, and Spencer would probably be more annoyed except he keeps noticing how red Ryan’s mouth looks in his cold face. He didn’t use to have this problem, but he figures orgasms that are not from his own hand are a fair enough price to pay for getting irritating urges to kiss Ryan all the time, and he doesn’t jump too much when Ryan leans over and presses his cold nose against Spencer’s neck.

A little bit before dinner, Brendon calls, and Spencer drops back from the group, leaving the twins to entertain Ryan for a while. “Hey,” he says, and Brendon echoes him and then falls quiet again. He sounds a little bit lost, unsure as to why he called, and Spencer feels absurdly guilty for leaving him behind.

“Have Brent and his family left?” he asks, and there is the inevitable pause while Brendon nods before remembering that Spencer can’t see him.

“Yup,” he says. “Down to the unreachable cabin thing, yet again. I’m all alone, Smith. What are you going to do about it?”

“Mail you some eggnog?” Spencer suggests. “Although, like. The post office would probably kill me. Can you imagine the leakage?” Brendon laughs shortly and doesn’t say anything else and Spencer hesitates and then asks, carefully, “Are you okay?”

A lifetime of being best friends with Ryan Ross has kind of taught him not to say it that obviously, but Brendon’s not Ryan and in some ways he’s easier to figure out – Spencer doesn’t have to dance carefully around him at the risk of him getting furious or, worse, more upset, in any case. He waits and Brendon breathes out a little shakily and Spencer really, really wishes he could pull Brendon close and give him a hug, pay him back for some of the effortless comfort Brendon’s always giving everyone else.

“Um,” Brendon says, and then laughs loudly and obnoxiously. “Fuck, yes, I guess? I just… I don’t know how long this is going to last.”

“What’s going to last?” Spencer asks.

“Me living with my family, I guess,” Brendon says quietly. “I think… I don’t think I can stand it much more. Lying about the band and about doing a mission and about believing in motherfucking _God_ , and we have to go to church tonight and tomorrow and I don’t know how when I can’t, when I can’t—”

“I know,” Spencer says, even though he doesn’t. If both of you know it’s a lie, Ryan had told him once, it doesn’t matter. Spencer thinks there’s some pretty flawed logic in that, and a possible reason why so many other kids in Vegas hate Ryan with a passion, but it’s applicable in this situation. “I know, Brendon. Just. Wait it out, okay, I know it sounds awful, but when me and Ryan get back we’ll sort it, we’ll help you out.”

“Yeah,” Brendon says. He’s quiet for a moment and then he says, “Sorry, man, I’m totally going all emo on you. Don’t tell Ross, he’ll be pissy with me for stealing his crown.”

“Ryan is the Emo Princess,” Spencer agrees solemnly, and looks up to see Ryan watching him with a pinched expression. Spencer rolls his eyes and Ryan turns away, back to Crystal’s high-pitched imitation of a girl in her class.

“Exactly,” Brendon says. “Anyway. I’ve got to go. Thanks for talking.”

“Brendon,” Spencer begins.

“Bye!” Brendon says quickly, and hangs up.

Spencer sighs and puts his phone back in his pocket, catches up with Ryan and his family. He falls into step with Ryan and says, “So, when we get back, we’re going to have to do something about Brendon.”

Ryan looks at him and says, “How’s that going to make a difference to usual?”

Spencer blinks at him. “Huh?”

“You’re always doing something about Brendon,” Ryan says. He shrugs his shoulders when Spencer asks him what that’s supposed to mean, and doesn’t look properly at Spencer for the rest of the trip.

They get home late that night, ten o’clock with the girls already sleeping on each other’s shoulders in the car. Spencer’s mom says, “Straight to bed, get a good night’s sleep or you’ll be too tired out to enjoy tomorrow,” and Ryan heads up the stairs immediately, locking himself in the bathroom.

Spencer corners him in their bedroom when he gets back. “Hey,” he says. “Hey, are you mad at me or something?”

Ryan stares at him, eyes wide and surprised, but his mouth is in a thin, determined line and he doesn’t fool Spencer for a second, even when he says, in his best confused voice, “No?”

“Okay, whatever,” Spencer says, and backs him against the wall, kisses him. Ryan goes very still and then breaks away deliberately.

“I’m tired,” he says. “I don’t feel like being your right hand, tonight.”

Spencer wants to snap, _don’t be such a fucking asshole_ , but Ryan looks slightly upset, under all the sleek bitchiness, and Spencer’s been wanting him all day. He breathes in and doesn’t speak until he’s sure he’s going to sound calm and in control, and then he says, “That’s okay, you don’t have to. I’ll just blow you, alright?”

Ryan’s mouth actually drops open, his eyes getting huge. “What?” he stammers, and it’s the first time Spencer’s properly shocked him in years.

“I’m curious,” Spencer says, and it isn’t a lie. Ryan just keeps staring at him and Spencer drops to his knees, hits them a little hard and winces, looking up at Ryan. He unzips Ryan’s fly and then says, “That’s okay, right?”

“Fuck,” Ryan breathes. “Yes. Jesus, Spence, you’re so—”

“Uh-huh,” Spencer says meaninglessly, and pulls Ryan’s cock out of his underwear, licks tentatively at the head.

Ryan’s head falls back against the wall and he whispers, “Confusing.” Then he stops talking.

For some reason Spencer starts thinking about the first time he swore in front of his mom, which is stupid and irrelevant and proves exactly how dumb his brain is. But: he was twelve, and it wasn't even that he was angry, just that his mom asked how the movie he and Ryan went to see was and he said "fucking awesome" without thinking about it. His mom's eyes narrowed and her mouth got all tight and pinched like when she was really angry, but her voice was kind of soft and resigned when she said, "Mind your language please, Spencer," like she'd been waiting for him to swear, like she'd been expecting it, and it had made Spencer feel weirdly guilty, more so than he would have been if she'd yelled. He's not sure why he starts remembering it, except maybe that it's kind of boring on his knees like this, mouth stretched around Ryan's cock, and his mind wanders, or maybe because it had left the same not entirely unpleasant but still faintly uncomfortable prickle at the base of his spine, like he was growing up without meaning to.

Ryan makes that noise, the mewling one that gets stuck in his throat, and curls his fingers in Spencer's hair.

*

Spencer wakes late on Christmas morning, which seems impossible, because the twins are usually bouncing on his bed by eight at the latest. Presents are a family affair and his sisters are not averse to waking him up in order to open things sooner, but Spencer doesn’t wake until eleven, and his door is still closed and peaceful.

Ryan is gone, though, the covers thrown off of his bed, and Spencer blinks blearily. He stretches lazily, lets sleep seep away slowly and jerks off, then goes to the bathroom, brushes his teeth and texts Brendon to see if he’s holding up all before going downstairs. When he gets there, Ryan, Crystal and Jackie are sitting close together on the couch with blankets pulled up to their nose watching Love Actually. Spencer blinks at them all and then, when none of them pay any attention to him, pads off into the kitchen.

His mom looks at his pillow-creased, inquisitive face and giggles a little bit. “They’ve been watching movies all morning,” she says. “We’ve already been treated to Titanic and half a series of Friends.”

Spencer stares at her. “ _Why_?”

“Ryan said we should let you sleep,” Crystal informs him, sneaking up behind him. “So we did. Can we open presents _now_?”

The whole family goes back to the living room and Spencer settles next to Ryan on the couch. Ryan looks at him warily and Spencer gives him an unimpressed stare before leaning in and licking his ear. Ryan squawks, clapping a hand over his ear and yelping, “Dude, _gross_ ,” in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, but he leans back comfortably against Spencer afterwards and Spencer knows they’re okay.

He hadn’t been sure, last night. Ryan had barely gotten a hand into Spencer’s jeans before he came and they’d both gone to bed without looking at each other much. It’s all too easy for Spencer to remember what Ryan’s dick tastes like, the strange, almost musky sex-smell of it, and that makes something squirm in his gut, a cross between turned on and vaguely terrified. He hadn’t really liked the act itself, but he’d liked Ryan’s reactions, and he’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean. The ground between them feels like shifting terrain all of a sudden.

Crystal dumps a package badly wrapped in newspaper in his lap, and Spencer tears it open to find the sneakers he’d been secretly coveting (they had a lot of glitter; Spencer thought it was probably not the most manly thing to advertise that he wanted), a burned copy of the new Sum 41 album and Ryan’s English notes from the year before. Spencer looks up and grins and Ryan ducks his head, says, “You’re welcome.”

*

Spencer’s been waiting for it, but it’s not until after lunch that Ryan gets up and says, “I’m gonna call my dad.”

“Okay, hon,” Spencer’s mom says. “Say hi to him from us, won’t you.” Ryan nods and Spencer gets up to follow him out of the room, feels his mom watching them go. Sometimes Spencer’s insanely grateful for how well she knows Ryan, how easily she can manage him. The line of Ryan’s back is already slightly looser.

They go and sit in the more formal dining room, and Spencer perches on the table, kicking his legs absently while Ryan dials. Ryan looks at him and Spencer hesitates, bites his lip.

“I can go, if you want,” he says.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Ryan tells him. He turns slightly when his dad picks up, though, and lifts one shoulder a little bit. Spencer can only see half his face when he mumbles, “Hi. It’s Ryan. Yeah.”

Spencer looks out the window. It didn’t snow last night, and the ground is going slightly mushy, but the clouds are gathering ominously above and Spencer doesn’t think the twins are going to be disappointed by the lack of a White Christmas. It’s too cold, though; Spencer casts a look at Ryan in his thin sweatshirt and thinks they should have brought the blanket from the lounge with them, pulled it around their shoulders and sat close.

“No, it’s good,” Ryan says. “The house is really cool. I don’t know, stuff. I’m not.”

Spencer doesn’t really like listening to Ryan talk to his dad on the phone, is the thing. When it’s in person, Ryan never talks to his dad with Spencer nearby that long and they tend to leave pretty soon (which is good, because Spencer never quite lost his five year old timidity of the older George Ross) but Ryan always spends a while on the phone, like he feels duty-bound to keep talking. He also says ‘no’ too much.

“We might go to church tonight,” Ryan says. “Spencer’s sisters like the nativity. Crystal and _Jackie_. It’s alright. I know you don’t, I don’t care, it’s just alright.” He skims his foot across the floor and rubs his cheek against his shoulder, and his voice drops too low for Spencer to hear for a while, until he makes an exasperated sound and tilts his head up. “I _know_ I will. I spoke to the school. Dad, I already told you all this. No, I’m not. No. _No_.”

Spencer stands up and crosses the floor to him, presses his cheek against Ryan’s back and breathes in. Normally, normally he couldn’t do this, but he figures sex is probably a pretty good excuse for a lack of appropriate comforting boundaries.

Softly, Ryan says, “Of course I don’t. Please don’t—no, okay. Yeah. Merry Christmas. No, I know. I know. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks. Do you want me to – well, you call then. Okay. No.”

He draws in a breath and nods, making mindless agreeable noises for a while. Then he pulls his shoulders up and says in a fast, defensive rush, “Yeah. Bye. I love yo—” and Spencer is close enough to hear the line go dead.

Spencer says, “Wanna go for a walk?”

They go outside and walk away from the house, out to the far left of the parked car and the road. Ryan is quiet and Spencer sticks close to him, their shoulders bumping if one of them missteps a little in the unstable snow. Finally they come to the edge of the property and Ryan climbs up onto the fence, sitting on the bar on top with his back to the house. It’s just tall enough that his feet don’t touch the ground. Spencer pulls his hoodie sleeves over his hands when he climbs up and is grateful that the temperature has risen enough that the metal isn’t sufficiently cold enough to make them stick to it. He’s heard horror stories.

Ryan breathes out a foggy cloud and then laughs quietly, a little surprised and a fair bit self-deprecating, which Ryan doesn’t do very often. Spencer looks at him and Ryan says, “I always fucking expect him to – it’s stupid.”

“You’re allowed to expect,” Spencer tells him, and shrugs. “It’s not your fault.”

“It would be easier,” Ryan says, “if it was.”

Spencer touches for lack of anything concrete to do; reaches up and puts his hand on Ryan’s neck, hidden under his hair, smoothes slightly greasy strands. His mom has a way of doing it that is mindlessly comforting and Spencer doesn’t think he has the knack, because there’s nothing mindless about this at all, not when he’s still unsure about how things are different and how things are the same. Spencer is pretty sure that he’s not allowed to kiss Ryan right now, that the places and times he _is_ , in fact, allowed to kiss Ryan are laid out in firm black timetables in Ryan’s head where Spencer can’t comprehend them, because these things make sense for Ryan in a way that they can’t for Spencer.

He thinks, though, that he is allowed to pet at Ryan’s hair in a way that most best friends don’t, and Ryan leans back into his palm for a moment. His eyelashes flutter against his skin when he blinks very rapidly and Spencer realises that the bags that are generally under Ryan’s eyes are gone, that his skin is not too pale, that he looks more rested than he has in months. Spencer grins and takes his hand away.

“So,” Spencer says. “You realise the twins are going to be very disappointed if you don’t let them give you a make-over with the stuff they gave you.”

“I’ve been wearing eyeliner for months now,” Ryan complains. “You’d think they’d have a bit of faith in my abilities.”

“Well, instead they thought purple eye shadow was an appropriate Christmas gift,” Spencer says. “You gotta ask yourself what kind of image you’re presenting.”

Ryan laughs and turns his face towards Spencer, rests his forehead on Spencer’s shoulder. “The other day my dad walked in on me trying this – this thing with mascara?” he says. “I just wanted to see what it looked like and it was stupid so, whatever, I didn’t even look like a chick. Just, a baby animal or something, it was ridiculous. But this _look_ my dad gave me, it was fucking awesome. It was like, at that moment, I’d failed him in every possible way.” He starts laughing and after a beat, Spencer joins him.

“Man,” Spencer says. “That’s brilliant. Jeez.”

“You should’ve seen it,” Ryan says. “I was like, fuck. Now he _really_ thinks I’m gay.” Spencer doesn’t know what to say to that so he doesn’t say anything, and Ryan glances at him, before repeating uneasily, “You should’ve seen it.”

“I feel like I’ve witnessed enough of your humiliating experiences over the years,” Spencer says airily. “You can have them all on your own, now. You’re a big boy.”

“Still,” Ryan says, and his voice is serious again, now, all traces of laughter gone. “I never see you anymore.”

“You see me plenty,” Spencer says.

“Band practice,” Ryan counters. “That’s all. You’re always at school or I’m at college or it’s work or homework or what the fuck ever, and my dad’s all crazy about me doing well at college and shit and he won’t let me just hang out like we used to—”

“Ryan,” Spencer says. “Ryan, we’re on a five week vacation right now.”

“And then we’ll go home,” Ryan continues, jaw tight. “And it’ll be you, and Brent and Brendon, and me, and we’ll all be in these fucking different places, but at least you and Brent and Brendon are in the _same_ different places.”

“Christ,” Spencer says. “Are you pissed at me for being friends with Brendon? _You’re_ friends with Brendon, unless allowing yourself to be cuddled all the fucking time is your idea of enmity—”

“I don’t give a fuck who you’re friends with,” Ryan says, and he’s trembling a little, with anger or the cold. “And I _do_ like Brendon. I’m just saying, I never see you anymore. I thought, maybe if I, if I give you something and make you need me like I – like I – I fucking never see you, Spence. That’s all.”

Spencer sighs and runs his hands through his hair, tugging just enough that it hurts, propping his elbows on his knees. He’s not sure whether he’s angry or frustrated or confused, but he knows he doesn’t want to fight. He says, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ryan says bitterly. “It’s not anyone’s fault, I just, I can feel this. Ending. Or leaving, or _something_ , and I don’t want it to.”

“Jesus, Ryan,” Spencer says. “What, are you expecting me to get up and abandon you or something?”

“I’m always expecting something,” Ryan says, voice sullen. “You said I was allowed to.”

Spencer’s head hurts, not up to following Ryan’s circular thoughts, his wild leaps of logic. He looks at Ryan in his thin fucking sweatshirt and thinks things were probably easier when he didn’t know what different parts of Ryan tasted like, when he didn’t know what it felt like to have Ryan touch him with a dark, curious intent in his eyes. Then again, it’s _Ryan_ ; maybe they weren’t.

He unzips his hoodie and hands it over. He’s wearing a sweater underneath and so he shakes it under Ryan’s nose after Ryan gives him the first sceptical look, and Ryan takes it and pulls it on over his shoulders. He curls his hands up in the sleeves and Spencer makes an exasperated sound, leans over and zips it up.

“You’re my best friend,” Spencer says. “Don’t be an asshole.” Ryan sidles closer and Spencer wraps an arm around his shoulder, tugs him in. Ryan pushes his nose against Spencer’s neck and Spencer laughs, surprised and breathless. “Fuck,” he says. “Your nose is cold.”

“Sorry,” Ryan murmurs, and doesn’t move.

*

The day passes slowly. Christmas is always an anti-climax, Spencer thinks, after the months of anticipation leading up to it; after the presents and the big lunch it’s all over, even when they do go to the nativity play that night. Nothing momentous ever really happens.

It’s a comfortable day, at least, and it’s nice to have Ryan there without first having to watch him come grey-faced and apologetic through the door, mumbling some excuse about dropping off presents while his dad met up with work colleagues. One year Spencer’s family had changed their mind at the last minute and gone to have lunch at his grandma’s house, and when they’d gotten back at eight that night Ryan had fallen asleep on the porch, leaning against their front door. Spencer had thought he was going to be sick for a moment with guilt and directionless fury, and his mom hadn’t been able to stop herself from reaching out to Ryan all night, smoothing her hand over his hair, patting his elbow. Ryan hadn’t acknowledged it, not really, but when she asked if he wanted to stay the night he got out of his chair with awkward fourteen year old clumsiness and hugged her. Spencer remembers her eyes, wide and startled, and misting with tears.

The twins drag out their mattresses after dinner and put them in front of the TV, and Ryan and Spencer claim the couch. They watch the Christmas specials that are on for a while until it gets too nauseating, and then they move on to the stack of DVDs next to the cabinet. Halfway through the third Harry Potter movie (Jackie’s choice) Spencer’s phone buzzes against his thigh with a text from Brendon; _xmas officially over, everyone asleep. how was yr day??_

It’s past one in the morning and Crystal and Jackie are barely awake. Spencer touches his fingers lightly to Ryan’s elbow and says, “I’ll be right back.”

He calls Brendon when he gets up to the room, pushing his back into the corner Ryan spent the first day sitting in. Brendon sounds tired but cheerful and much better than he was yesterday; he talks excitedly for about ten minutes about the awesome new video game he got and how he and his brother spent about four hours after church today trying to beat it. “I have to play with it on mute, now,” he says mournfully. “Everyone’s sick of the music, and it means I can’t hear bad guys sneaking up on me. Assholes.”

Spencer asks, “You had a good day, then?”

“It’s _Christmas_ , Spencer Smith,” Brendon says. “Are you seriously asking me that? Tis the season to be jolly!”

“Brendon,” Spencer says, and Brendon laughs a little regretfully.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “It’s good, Spence. I’m sorting things. I don’t… I’m going to work stuff out.”

“We’ll be back soon,” Spencer tells him.

“You will not,” Brendon says, heaving a despairing sigh. “You’re gone for another month, and Brent doesn’t come back until January, and I am still _all alone_. How the hell are you going to make up to me for this cruel desertion?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Spencer says. “I’m not sure if I have the resources, to be honest. Do you have any suggestions for me?”

“You could try song format,” Brendon says grandiosely. “I will accept payment of pseudo pop-punk, if you are so inclined.”

Spencer laughs. “Payments of _what_? Are you having a conversation or working on English assignment?”

Brendon has a suspiciously giggly coughing fit and then croons down the line, “You promised me starry night skies, they just remind me of your shiny bright eyes—”

“Brendon,” Spencer warns. “Oh God, no. Please.”

“You do have shiny bright eyes, Spence, you shouldn’t be ashamed of them,” Brendon tells him gleefully and then continues, “I’m missing your voice at night time, the sepa-separation seem-seems a sad crime.”

“I’m talking to you _right now_!” Spencer protests.

Brendon skips over a couple of lines and launches into the chorus with gusto. Spencer gives up complaining and sits on the line laughing so hard his stomach hurts. Brendon’s voice wobbles theatrically with emotion now and again and Spencer can imagine the flamboyant gestures he’s making.

“Come on, Spencer,” Brendon interrupts himself with. “I would like you to cheer me up now, please. That’s what friends are _for_.”

“Singing Hellogoodbye?” Spencer wonders, but nevertheless agreeably adds, “The miles of air and road and land, that separate me from all my plans, we’re havin’—” before he’s laughing too hard to continue.

“Havin’, havin’, havin’ fun,” Brendon finishes and then pauses meaningfully. “Well?”

“But something, something tells me I miss someone,” Spencer sings, and Brendon cracks up laughing. Spencer grins and raises his chin, and then he notices Ryan leaning against the closed door and watching him, face unreadable in the shadows of the room. Something tight and angry curls in his stomach and he feels his mouth go into a fierce, defiant line, because there’s something about the way Ryan’s looking at him that makes Spencer want to throw a punch for the first time in forever.

“Hang on a sec,” he tells Brendon and then covers the mouth of the phone with the palm of his hand. He keeps his voice carefully light when he leans forward and says, “What’s up?” He doesn’t know why he’s this wary, really, only that he’s pissed off with Ryan because it seems like Ryan is about to be pissed off with him, and Spencer doesn’t understand.

Ryan is quiet and calm, though, and all he says is, “I thought I could pay you back for that blowjob, last night.”

Spencer swallows, hard. From the earpiece of his phone Brendon says his name, tinny, and Spencer presses it to his ear and garbles, “Gotta go, seeya.” Ryan looks briefly, terribly triumphant and then Spencer stands up and it’s just Ryan, half-smiling, beckoning his finger so that Spencer walks towards him without even thinking.

*

Spencer trips slightly with his jeans pushed unceremoniously down to his ankles, and lands heavily on the bed. Ryan cocks his head to the side and then says, “Hey, yeah, yeah, that’s a good idea,” and then he’s pushing Spencer back until Spencer’s resting against the headboard and Ryan is lying between Spencer’s legs. He tugs Spencer’s boxers down and looks up at Spencer for a moment, a quick, uncertain flick of his eyes. Spencer wonders if maybe he’s meant to say something hot, or maybe something reassuring, if Ryan needs something from him right now, but then Ryan ducks his head and takes Spencer’s cock in his mouth straight away, no hesitation like Spencer had last night, or at least not showing it.

There’s a crack and a sharp throb in Spencer’s head, and he realises he’s let his head fall back hard against the headboard, but can’t bring himself to care. Ryan’s mouth is hot and wet and all the things Spencer would expect Ryan’s mouth to be, and also around his dick, which is not a thing Spencer has generally thought of before the past week.

Spencer bucks his hips up helplessly and Ryan makes a disgruntled choking noise, flattens an arm across Spencer’s stomach and pushes him back down. Spencer mumbles out something vaguely close to an apology but Ryan just lowers his eyes, eyelashes fluttering against his skin, and bobs his head as best as he can. He looks slightly obscene from Spencer’s angle, mouth stretched and red and wet, spit flecking his chin, and Spencer would really like this to last longer than another minute, so he lowers his head and closes his eyes.

After a moment, Ryan pulls off and Spencer makes a low whining noise in his throat, opens his eyes to see what’s going on. Ryan says, “Hang on, just—” and sucks his own fingers into his mouth, licking and generally being like a slightly clumsy, underage porn star between Spencer’s legs. Once Ryan’s hand and fingers are shiny and wet he goes back down, taking Spencer’s cock in his mouth, and this time he slides his hand around the base, touching where his mouth can’t reach.

Spencer is panting and concentrating very hard on not bucking up into Ryan’s throat when Ryan takes his hand away, and suddenly he feels Ryan’s fingers pressing wet against his asshole, circling slowly, spreading spit across his skin. Something lodges in his throat, anxiety and anticipation, and he stutters out, “Wait, Ryan, what—”

“Calm down,” Ryan says, pulling off, breath ghosting across Spencer’s cock. Spencer groans and pushes his hips uselessly upwards. “I’ll stop if it hurts, okay?”

“Okay,” Spencer breathes. He pauses and then adds, “Just – come on, asshole, don’t stop, come on—”

Ryan sucks at the head of Spencer’s cock and pushes the tip of his finger _into Spencer’s ass_ , and Spencer makes a strangled yelp, hands flying to the sheets and clenching in them. Ryan pulls off again and says, “Okay?”

“Feels weird,” Spencer says, eyes squeezed shut, and makes a rough noise when Ryan pushes his finger in further. He kicks off his jeans as best he can without kneeing Ryan in the face and tries to spread his legs more, and Ryan pulls his boxers down below his knees.

“Better?” Ryan asks.

“Um,” Spencer says, and makes a strangled noise when Ryan crooks his finger. “I – I guess, still pretty fucking weird.”

“Um,” Ryan says, and then, more decisively, “Okay, wait.” He slides his finger out (Spencer gasps) and shuffles down a little further and then pushes at Spencer’s legs, until he pulls his knees up and spreads his legs more, pushing his hips upward. Then he spreads Spencer’s cheeks with his hands and leans in, licks a long stripe down across Spencer’s asshole and towards his balls.

“Oh God,” Spencer says. “Fuck, what are you doing—”

“Bad?” Ryan asks, anxiously, and Spencer laughs stupidly.

“Fucking weird,” he says for the millionth time. “Don’t – don’t stop.”

He opens his eyes then and jolts, because Ryan’s staring right at him, looking half-pleased and a bit startled and strangely awed. He flushes when he sees Spencer looking and ducks his head, and then he pushes with his tongue at Spencer’s ass and this is so, so bizarre and so, so awesome. Spencer groans and Ryan laps slightly at it, and then Spencer says, “ _Ryan_ ,” and Ryan pushes his tongue in and moves quickly to dig his fingers into Spencer’s hips and stop him from arching off the bed.

He settles down comfortably, licking in and twisting his tongue and Spencer tries to concentrate on breathing properly. It’s wet and strange and kind of disgusting and it’s also hotter than anything Spencer has ever been able to imagine, and when Ryan works his finger in again it’s not as weird as before, it’s just _better_. He says, “Fuck, Ryan, please, Ryan, _please_ ,” without even knowing what he’s asking for, and Ryan makes this hungry little noise and Spencer feels the fucking vibration of it against his skin. He opens his eyes and twists his head and can see that Ryan’s rutting frantically against the cover, hand trembling a little on Spencer’s ass and it occurs to Spencer, suddenly, what he wants.

“We should fuck,” he gasps out, pushing back onto Ryan’s finger and tongue. “We should, you should fuck me, I want you to,” and Ryan pulls his mouth away and comes. Spencer is about to get seriously pissed off because come on, Ryan was kind of busy there, and now his finger is just sitting limp inside Spencer and he’s blinking up in a dazed way, and then he remembers that he’s got his own hands, and he’s barely got one curled around his cock before he’s coming, turning his head to bite into the meat of his shoulder so that he doesn’t wake anyone up by being too loud.

By the time he’s coming down, vision clearing, Ryan has shimmied out of his jeans and crawled up beside him, propped up on one elbow and studying Spencer intently. Spencer blinks at him and Ryan asks, quiet and nervous all of a sudden, “Did you mean it? What you just—”

“Umn,” Spencer says, feeling his cheeks heat up. He sits up and pulls his boxers up, smearing his hand rather ineffectually through the come on his stomach and then reaching down to wipe it off on an abandoned sock. He very carefully does not look at Ryan when he says, “Yeah? I mean, I hadn’t thought about it. Uh, before. But like – if you want to – if it’s not too weird – then like, yeah. I’d like it, I think. But only if you want to.”

“I want to,” Ryan says, and then he’s on top of Spencer, kissing him hard and sloppy, teeth knocking together. Ryan’s mouth tastes a bit strange, sort of unpleasant, and Spencer tries not to get too grossed out – he thinks it probably wouldn’t be very nice to ask Ryan to brush his teeth. Ryan breaks away and smiles widely down at Spencer, breathing hard, repeats, “I want to.”

“Well,” Spencer says, and starts grinning. Ryan tiptoes his fingers along Spencer’s belly, pushing his t-shirt up, and Spencer starts laughing. “We can’t do it now, freak,” he says. “I mean, we need stuff, right? Like, uh, lube. You’re not fucking me with spit, oh my God.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ryan says. “And like, condoms too.”

Spencer screws up his mouth thoughtfully. “Isn’t that for chicks?” he says. “And if you have a disease or something? We don’t have diseases.”

“I dunno,” Ryan says honestly. “I’m pretty sure you’re meant to wear one? And better—”

“Safe than sorry, yeah, yeah,” Spencer says. “We’ll have to wait then, I guess. Till the shops open, like, after New Years.”

Ryan glares. “Can’t we find stuff here?”

“Dude, we’re not going looking for stuff in my parent’s bathroom,” Spencer says. “I would die of the horror. I like to imagine they’re just really good friends.” Ryan laughs and Spencer narrows his eyes. “Don’t mock me, man. It could be true. We don’t have any proof.”

“I kind of think you and your two siblings are proof,” Ryan says.

“Shut up,” Spencer tells him. “Anyway, they wouldn’t have lube, so.”

“I’m pretty sure you can just use, like, lotion or something,” Ryan says, and Spencer shakes his head.

“What if it had some weird chemical and we didn’t know?” he says. “Fucking ow. No, we’ll just suck it up. It’ll be alright, we can wait.”

“Okay, fine,” Ryan says, and then he shoves at Spencer until he can pull the blankets out from underneath him and up over them. Spencer blinks at him and Ryan turns slightly pink in the dim light, says, “Whatever, I’m fucking exhausted, _you_ switch beds.”

“No,” Spencer says, “I’m alright.” He switches off the lamp and rolls over until his front is pressed up all along Ryan’s back, lies completely still until Ryan relaxes and they both fall asleep. It’s the first time they’ve shared a bed in years, barring the times they fall asleep on the couch, and though the bed is a single, they both fit pretty well together in it. Spencer’s oddly comforted by this knowledge, and by knowing what it’s like to wake up in the middle of the night with Ryan curled up against his chest, mouth open and breathing against Spencer’s collarbone.

Plus in the morning Ryan wakes him up with a hand job, which is a pretty awesome way to start the day.

*

The days seem to speed up after Christmas. Normally, Spencer would be annoyed at a vacation stealing away from him, but Ryan has taken to stealing up behind him and mumbling in his ear about things he wants to do once they finally get Stuff, and Spencer’s counting down the days until the 3rd of January, when Spencer’s mom says the store will probably be open again.

(Spencer runs his hands through his hair, blinking tiredly at himself in the mirror – he and Ryan hadn’t slept last night until three and though he doesn’t regret it, he wishes he hadn’t woken up so early. Then Ryan’s face is behind his, hooking his chin over Spencer’s shoulder and stepping close behind him, pushing his hips up against Spencer’s ass. Spencer swallows hard and Ryan tucks his head, eyelashes low and dark on his cheeks, and murmurs into his neck, “I think I’m going to fuck you slowly, first time. I don’t wanna ruin it after all the waiting, so I’ll go in slow, and wait until you ask before we move. Okay?” Spencer doesn’t speak, just stares transfixed at them in the mirror, until Ryan laughs softly and pads away.)

On New Year’s Eve, Crystal and Jackie plead with their parents until finally the whole family is given official permission to climb up through the tiny storage room down the hall from Ryan and Spencer’s room and onto the roof. It’s an old habit, from years of sitting up high to watch the fireworks, and while there’s nothing to see this year it would seem wrong to spend the hour before midnight in any other way.

Ryan’s been over for enough New Year’s Eves to feel comfortable, too, and he perches next to Spencer, rugged up in about eight sweaters. Crystal and Jackie dare each other to walk closer and closer to the edge, laughing and bright-faced up in the cold night, and Spencer’s mom keeps half an eye on them and half on her husband as they talk in low voices, heads bent together.

Eventually, Spencer’s dad starts off the countdown and at midnight Spencer laughs out loud for no reason at all and Ryan grabs at his hand unexpectedly. Spencer turns his head and Ryan’s grinning at him, baring his teeth, and he digs his nails into Spencer’s palm. Spencer thinks that he’ll feel the marks all night and he curls his frozen fingers around Ryan’s, squeezes back.

Ryan lets go so as to give Crystal an awkward hug but when Spencer’s dad says, “So, resolutions, everyone?” his hand creeps to Spencer’s lower back, splaying out against Spencer’s hoodie. The tips of Ryan’s fingers press against him just slightly and Spencer bites his lip.

“Do well in the last year of school, I guess,” he says, and his dad nods. Ryan doesn’t move his hand.

*

“Mom?” Spencer says tentatively, Ryan lingering behind him. “Mom, we were wondering if it’s okay to go into town?”

Spencer’s mom swings around frowning. “What for?” she says. “I went shopping yesterday. I’m pretty sure the fridge will burst if you try and fit anymore in it.”

“Um, yeah,” Spencer says. “But like, we both just got this crazy craving for cookie dough.”

Ryan makes a squeaky noise behind him, pressing his mouth against Spencer’s shoulder to muffle it. Spencer elbows him when his mom’s not looking – it’s a genuine craving that Spencer gets every now and then, so whatever, it’s not that hilarious.

Spencer’s mom makes an exasperated noise. “You can’t just make some? I don’t know how I feel about you two taking the car alone.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Spencer says. “It’s not the _same_ if you make it. Anyway, we’ve got our licenses. And you think Ryan’s a good driver!” She puts her hands on her hips and Spencer says, quickly, “We’ll pay for it and all!”

“Yeah?” she asks dryly. “Who’s going to pay for my gas?” But she reaches for the keys as she says it and hands them over. Spencer grins.

“Thanks,” he says. “You want anything while we’re there?”

“No, we’re fine here,” she says. “Let Ryan drive, okay. I still don’t trust you.”

“You cut me to the bone,” Spencer says solemnly, and then turns and drops the keys in the waiting hand of a smirking Ryan. “Shut up,” he says, nudging him. “See you in a couple of hours, mom!”

“If you’re not back in two and a half,” she begins, warningly, and Spencer rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “We’ll call, it’s all good. Bye!”

It’s a forty-five minute drive into town. Spencer brings a couple of CDs for the ride but they turn the volume down three songs into _Enema of the State_ , Ryan launching into a story about this dude from his English Lit class. It’s as normal as ever, and every now and then Spencer thinks _we’re going to buy condoms_ and starts giggling. Ryan just looks at him, darkly amused, hands relaxed on the wheel.

They pull over at the first supermarket they see. Spencer walks in nervously as though expecting his grandmother or ancient science teacher to pop out of nowhere and inquire what he’s doing, but it’s mostly empty and the bored employees themselves barely glance at them.

Spencer knows where condoms generally are and they find it easily enough and then stand there snickering helplessly for about ten minutes. Ryan looks at Spencer and says, voice dull as he can make it, “Chocolate or strawberry?” and Spencer almost collapses, hanging onto Ryan’s shoulders and laughing helplessly. Ryan says, “I’ve heard you can get ‘em with rhinestones. We shouldn’t settle for anything ordinary,” and Spencer chokes, struggling for breath.

Eventually he composes himself and turns back, surveying the shelf with a weird amount of interest (still habitually glancing around for other people, in case they have to scuttle down a few steps and pretend to be avidly interested in tampons). He says, a little sheepishly, “Dude, there’s like, hundreds.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “It’s alright, I know the ones,” and he swipes a packet off the shelf easily enough, turning and heading up the aisle. Spencer blinks at him.

“Oh, right,” he says. “I forgot. You’ve, like, had sex.”

“With girls,” Ryan says, and shrugs.

Spencer looks away, slightly uneasy. He knows Ryan’s slept with girls, of course, he’s generally the one Ryan _tells_ , but he feels suddenly conscious of his own total lack of experience. At least Ryan _vaguely_ knows what he’s doing. Ryan looks sideways at him, uncertain, and Spencer rolls his eyes at himself, nudges Ryan in the ribs with his elbow.

It takes them a little longer to track down the K-Y, and when they do Ryan grabs two tubes. Spencer raises an eyebrow and Ryan actually goes a little pink, says, “Well, we don’t know how much we’re gonna need, right?”

“Trying to get lucky, Ross?” Spencer asks, and Ryan bumps his hips into Spencer’s and grins weirdly, biting his bottom lip while he does it. His teeth leave a little white imprint and Spencer is startled by a sudden urge to lean forward and soothe it with his mouth, kiss it better. He scrunches up his forehead, surprised at himself, and then hurries to catch up where Ryan’s heading towards the checkouts.

“Hey, hey, wait,” Spencer says, grabbing Ryan’s elbow and starting to laugh again, stupid, for no reason. “We have to buy cookie dough, remember? Or Mom’ll guess something’s up.” They head back in, giggling like schoolgirls, and Spencer picks out one of the big tubes of it and then makes disgusting gestures with it until Ryan is red-faced and breathless with laughter.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” he says. “Stop, it’s already gonna be bad enough when the chick at the counter sees we’re buying, like, lube and condoms and _cookie dough_.”

“Fuck,” Spencer says, running his hands through his hair. “I didn’t even think of that, they’re gonna think we’re total fucking perverts.”

“Spencer Smith,” Ryan says sternly. “Just exactly what are you going to do with that cookie dough, young man?”

It’s cheap and gross and immature but Spencer can’t stop laughing, and the girl at the check out does indeed give them strange looks. She’s in her early twenties with about five piercings and the edge of a tattoo peeking out from under the black work shirt, impossibly cool. When she hands over the bag and the change she raises an eyebrow and says, “You boys have fun,” and that sets Spencer off again, laughing uncontrollably behind his hand while Ryan does that thing where he’s trying to look hot, giving her a disinterested look and combing his hands back through his hair, and that makes Spencer laugh even more as Ryan hurries him away, slowly turning red again.

“What, what,” Ryan says while Spencer laughs harder.

“Dude, nothing,” he wheezes eventually. “Just, you were hitting on the girl selling us lube?”

Ryan thumps him in the arm, hard, and puts on _Hot Fuss_ once they’re in the car, glaring at Spencer. The car’s freezing, so Spencer ignores him in favour of turning up the heat.

They’ve been driving for about ten minutes, though, when Spencer realises that Ryan is pushing the speed limit as much as he can. “Hey, watch it,” he says, knowing the consequences if they get a speeding ticket in his parents’ car, and then it suddenly occurs to him _why_ Ryan’s driving so fast. He can’t help the grin that spreads over his face, or the way it turns into a smirk when he says, “Ryan, you know we won’t be having sex immediately upon arrival, right?”

“What?” Ryan snaps, head swivelling to look at him. Spencer laughs.

“Dude, my whole family is _there_ ,” he says. “And _awake_. You’re not fucking me while they’re even in the house.”

Ryan makes an outraged face. “Not even if they’re asleep? You let me suck you off when they’re asleep!”

“It’s different,” Spencer says. “I don’t wanna – dude, no, I’d just be too creeped out the whole time. We’ll have to wait until they all go out again.”

“But that could be _days_ ,” Ryan says, and Spencer shrugs.

“Tough luck.”

Ryan looks furious for a moment, and then he smirks and sets his jaw and the next thing Spencer knows the car is swerving down a small road and pulling over to the side.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asks, staring, and Ryan grabs the plastic bag from Spencer’s feet and crawls into the back.

“C’mon,” he says, and then, when Spencer hesitates, “Come _on_.” Spencer follows and Ryan grabs his sweatshirt and tugs him through the gap between the seats, so that Spencer stumbles and almost falls onto the floor. He ends up half on Ryan’s lap, and then Ryan’s kissing him, sliding his tongue into Spencer’s mouth and threading his hands through Spencer’s hair, and generally being really fucking dirty.

His hands are on Spencer’s pants before Spencer’s even gotten an idea of what’s going on, unzipping him and tugging at the waistband frantically. Finally Spencer pulls away and says, “No, Ryan, come on, no.”

“Why not?” Ryan challenges, eyes dark.

“Because I have principles,” Spencer snaps. “Because you’re not fucking me in the backseat of my parent’s car in the middle of nowhere, oh my God, who do you think you _are_ , Ryan Ross? Seriously!”

“It’s okay,” Ryan says, wriggling out of his pants. “You can fuck me first. I don’t mind.”

Spencer’s pretty sure that doesn’t actually leave his principles unchallenged, but his brain has apparently blown up and all he can do is stare. Ryan makes a huffy, impatient noise and then he’s urging Spencer up onto his knees, and pulling his jeans and boxers down, and then there is a crumple of their clothes tossed over into the front seat and they’re kissing again, cocks hard and pressing together.

“Okay?” Ryan says finally, fingers digging into Spencer’s hips, and Spencer nods.

“I don’t know,” he says uncertainly. “How to do it, I mean. I don’t think—” he pauses, considering, but he’s pretty sure there’s no room for him to sprawl between Ryan’s legs and lick him open, like Ryan did.

Ryan says, “It’s okay, I can – I know how. You put the condom on,” and he tosses the box at Spencer. Spencer gets occupied for a minute ripping off the packaging and opening the box, and then Ryan makes this shaky little moan and when Spencer looks up he’s got a finger inside himself, his eyes slipping shut.

“Fuck,” Spencer whispers, and then repeats it for good measure. Ryan pushes another finger in and breathes in raggedly, rocking his hips up and then down on his own fingers and Spencer is so fucking hard, not quite sure how his life got this awesome. Ryan keeps his eyes mostly closed, like he’s a little embarrassed to look back at Spencer, but he moves with a certain surety, and Spencer can’t help but say, voice kind of wobbly, “I thought you hadn’t done this before?”

Ryan opens his eyes and his cheeks turn pinker then they already are. “To other people,” he breathes, and then his wrist twists slightly as he slides a third finger in and he bites down hard on his lip, rocking onto it.

Spencer watches, transfixed, and then Ryan’s words catch up on him. “You’ve done this to yourself?” he asks, mouth open and staring because oh God, Ryan fingering himself, Ryan alone on his bed making those _noises_ and twisting against the sheets, free hand thrown out carelessly. Spencer can’t breathe properly.

Ryan nods quickly and then wriggles against the uncomfortable upholstering of the car and breathes, “Spencer, come on, come on, put the fucking condom on,” and Spencer remembers what he’s supposed to be doing, rips the silver package and rolls it on over himself carefully, trying not to think of the sixty-year old teacher he had who once showed them on a banana. He remembers something he read once and reaches for the abandoned tube of lube, smears some more out and spreads that over his cock. He knows that condoms have lube on them but it doesn’t feel like enough, and Ryan looks so tight, clenching around his fingers.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, Ryan, m’ready, are you, do you—”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ryan breathes, sliding his fingers out. He puts one foot on the floor of the car and hooks the other around Spencer’s waist, and Spencer shifts slightly, wriggling up until he can press the tip of his cock up against Ryan’s hole. Ryan breathes in a staggered inhalation and Spencer thinks THIS IS IT in capital letters, and then he shifts his hips forward and loses his balance, almost toppling over to the side.

Ryan props himself up on his elbows and blinks at him and Spencer flushes, steadying himself. He says, “I can’t fucking – I’m going to fall over,” and for once in his life Ryan doesn’t make fun of him, just nods.

“Switch,” he says, sitting up, and Spencer stares at him in confusion but lies down anyway. Ryan shifts him over until he can put his knees on either side of Spencer, and then he takes Spencer’s cock in his hand and pulls himself up over it. Spencer gets it, finally, and he tilts his head back and moans when Ryan positions himself over Spencer’s cock and slides down onto it, ass tight and hot and clenching around Spencer. It’s almost too tight, for a moment, and then Ryan releases a breath and sits still for a moment, taking in deep breaths with Spencer’s cock all the way in and fuck, fuck, it’s so good but Spencer wants to _move_.

He forces himself to stay still, though. Ryan’s cock isn’t as hard as it was before and his face is slightly white. Something twists in Spencer’s chest and he reaches out aimlessly and says, “Hey. Hey, Ryan. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, and then with the hand that isn’t steadying himself on the backseat he reaches forward and laces his fingers through Spencer’s. It’s a little awkward, holding his arm up so as to hold Ryan’s hand but Ryan relaxes, and then he starts to move, a little hesitantly and then more confidently and Spencer can barely breathe.

He tilts his hips up, unsure what exactly he’s searching for, and then Ryan groans, throwing his head back and says, “Fuck, Spencer, so fucking good,” and rolls his hips when he shifts down again, making Spencer call out something meaningless and incoherent. And okay, Spencer was so, so right about not doing this in the house, because they’re both making dumb, loud noises and Spencer doesn’t think anyone listening could mistake this as anything but sex.

It’s weird. Spencer doesn’t think it could be anything else, losing his virginity to his best friend in the backseat of a car, and this whole thing they’ve been doing is kind of incredibly weird, always has been, but it’s also amazing. Eventually Ryan says in this bitchy, breathless voice, “Spence, fucking _touch_ me,” and Spencer moves his free hand to Ryan’s cock and then it’s even better, because Ryan gets almost frantic, pushing himself up and down with his knees, head lolling back on his shoulders.

“Ryan,” Spencer chokes out eventually, when he can feel the heat in the pit of his stomach and his cock building uncontrollably. “Ryan, I’m gonna come—”

“No, wait, not yet,” Ryan says, and starts moving even faster which doesn’t exactly help Spencer with the not coming thing. Ryan bucks up harder into Spencer’s grip on his cock and rolls his hips when he’s coming back down and it’s good, oh, it’s really fucking good, and when Ryan squeezes his hand where it’s clutching Spencer’s, Spencer thrusts up hard one last time and comes. Ryan makes a small, disappointed noise and Spencer somehow has the presence of mind to keep jerking Ryan off, until he comes with a garbled noise all over Spencer’s fist.

There’s quiet for a moment, and then Ryan pulls off of Spencer’s cock and gets his hands free, pulling the condom off and making a face before tying it up.

“Where are you gonna,” Spencer mumbles weakly, and then Ryan winds down the window and chucks it outside and Spencer blinks at him, astounded. “That’s dis _gusting_ ,” he says and Ryan laughs hoarsely and winds the window back up. He almost falls down over Spencer and picks up Spencer’s hand again, clutching it tight in a slightly sweaty grip.

“We’re kind of gross,” Spencer whispers, and Ryan bends down, sucks Spencer’s fingers that have his come on it into his mouth, licks it off with these tiny, content noises. Spencer blinks down at him, wide-eyed. “You’re a freak,” he whispers.

“Doesn’t taste so bad,” Ryan mumbles, and then goes back to sprawling over Spencer like a dead weight. On the car stereo, Brandon Flowers is singing about dreamy eyes and everything being alright.

Spencer feels like he drifts off for a while there, Ryan clinging onto his hand, bare legs tangled together, and when he stirs back to consciousness he’s aware immediately of two things: that Ryan is awake, breathing wetly into his collarbone, and that they have to go home soon or Spencer’s mom will worry. Their pants and underwear are still in the front, and Spencer thinks disbelievingly that they didn’t even get naked properly, both wearing their shirts.

“We’d better get going,” Spencer says, and Ryan nods against his chest.

“You’re gonna have to drive,” Ryan says, sitting up. Spencer follows him automatically and they’re sitting close together again, noses almost brushing.

“Why?” Spencer asks, and Ryan smiles. It’s a strange smile, not one that he’s used to seeing on Ryan; shaky and pleased and unsure all at once.

“My legs have gone all wobbly,” Ryan says, and Spencer stares at him, bright-eyed, heart stuck in his throat.

*

They get back and Spencer’s mom looks up, rolls her eyes, and says, “Did you get lost?”

“Uh,” Spencer says, and looks away, tries not to flush. He tosses his mom the keys for the car and puts the cookie dough away, and then goes upstairs, too conscious of the plastic bag stuffed in his hoodie pocket. Ryan’s waiting up there for him and he takes one look at Spencer’s face and bursts out laughing.

“Did you think she’d be able to tell from your face?” Ryan asks, and Spencer glares at him. Ryan laughs harder. “You totally did, didn’t you? You thought your hair would be a – a more mature shade, or there’d be a certain _air_ in your walk—”

“There’s a certain air in _your_ walk,” Spencer retorts, and Ryan rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, you try having a dick up your ass and walking normally,” he says, and Spencer bites his lip. Ryan had shuffled around uncomfortably in the front seat until he got settled with his legs propped up on the dashboard, and Spencer had wanted to apologise but hadn’t been sure whether he was supposed to, or how to, or whatever. Ryan looks at him and his gaze softens, unexpectedly warm. “Hey,” he says, and reaches out to touch Spencer’s arm. “Hey, hey. I liked it, alright? Don’t guilt yourself out. It was awesome.”

“Yeah?” Spencer asks tentatively, and Ryan smiles crookedly back at him.

“Yeah, Spencer Smith,” he says. “You’re a sex god, you rock my world,” and his voice is dry and drawling but his eyes are sincere and clear, fixed on Spencer’s face.

*

Spencer doesn’t really notice until the next day, which he admits is a bit dumb because Ryan crawled into bed with him in the middle of the night, mumbled something about being cold and told Spencer to go back to sleep. He wakes up and Ryan’s curled up against his back like a monkey or Brendon or something, and he has to lie there and blink a bit before he can even work out what’s going on.

Maybe he takes so long to figure it out because Ryan acts perfectly normal, but after dinner that day they’re watching a movie and Spencer realises Ryan has barely left his side, even to go to the toilet, all day. He touches Spencer more, too, fingers poking at Spencer’s ribcage or arm slung casually around his shoulders and now, he’s produced a blanket from somewhere and is curled up against Spencer’s side watching Friends.

Spencer scratches idly at Ryan’s back and Ryan hums, contented, folding closer towards him. His eyes are half-closed, Spencer notices, glancing down at him, sleepy and barely watching the TV, and Crystal and Jackie are whispering and giggling on the other sofa, which means they’re probably discussing how dorky Ryan and Spencer are or planning some foul mischief.

“Hey,” Spencer says, a little bit concerned despite himself. He keeps his voice low, but Ryan makes a vaguely affirmative sound and Spencer asks, “Are you okay?”

Ryan opens his eyes slowly and stretches a little bit, slow and luxurious, like a cat. Spencer can feel Ryan’s body moving against his side, his leg, and he swallows hard, but Ryan doesn’t appear to notice.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, almost curiously. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Spencer doesn’t really know how to say _you’re being really clingy today_ without sounding like a bitch about it, or like he minds (which he doesn’t), so he just shrugs. “I dunno,” he says. “Just checking.” Ryan exhales a huffy kind of laugh against Spencer’s shoulder and then goes back to watching the TV.

Onscreen, Courtney Cox is shouting about something. Spencer raises his hand, carefully, and pushes it gently through Ryan’s hair and Ryan practically purrs, leaning into the touch. That night, he doesn’t wait for Spencer to fall asleep before hopping into bed beside him.

*

Ryan gives him a blowjob and fingers him at the same time and Spencer finds himself getting used to this, the strange, almost intrusive feeling of Ryan’s fingers inside him being kind of awesome as well. Ryan’s cock is different from his fingers, though, seems like too much and afterwards, when Spencer has returned the favour and they’re slumped across each other on the bed, he blurts out, “Did it hurt a lot?”

Ryan raises himself on one elbow, blinking lazily at Spencer in the blue light. “What,” he says, “Being fucked?”

Spencer’s cheeks go a bit red despite himself; he’s pretty sure Ryan’s blunt just to get a rise out of him, judging by the way he smirks, and he rolls his eyes before he says, “ _Yes_ , dickface.”

“Sort of,” Ryan says easily, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers in a way that, quite honestly, looks ridiculous. “It’s a weird… it’s like, it hurts, but it feels good at the same time.”

Spencer wishes, a little bit, that he could be as comfortable talking about sex as Ryan. Then again, Ryan’s had more practice than him. Spencer says, “I didn’t get really how – how it could, but then—”

“Fingers, yeah,” Ryan says. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling and in the dim light of the room, Spencer thinks Ryan’s cheeks are slightly pink when he says, “I’m not sure if everyone. Would. But for me, it was one of the weirdest but also… best things I’ve done, I guess. It felt really. I really liked it.” He takes in a sharp breath and puts his hands behind his head, and Spencer looks at the hard line of Ryan’s cock through his boxers and rolls over, tugs Ryan’s boxers down again.

“You’re just saying that,” he says, wrapping a wet hand around Ryan’s cock and enjoying the strangled gasp that follows, “Because it was me.”

“No,” Ryan says. He arches up into Spencer’s grip but keeps his eyes fixed on his face, clear and truthful. “No, I’m not. And if you’re like – if you don’t want me to fuck you, that’s, I don’t mind, because I liked it.”

“I want you to,” Spencer says, and Ryan nods, eyes falling shut.

*

Brendon calls and Spencer uses the opportunity to get out of doing the dishes, sneaking away and leaving Ryan to the mercy of the twins. Brendon rambles on about how _bored_ he is, how Brent doesn’t come back for another two days and Brendon is still all _alone_.

“Basically,” Spencer says, “You’re a wuss.”

“I am not,” Brendon tells him, affronted. “I’m braving the lonely waters of Summerlin all by myself. I don’t see what’s wussy about that.”

“Besides the fact that the most dangerous thing in Summerlin is your next door neighbour’s dog?” Spencer reminds him, and Brendon sighs.

“You don’t appreciate my pain,” he says. “Anyway, it’s a scary dog. What’s going on up in Colorado?”

“It’s snowing,” Spencer says. “There’s been snow like, the whole time. It’s pretty awesome. Apparently even the locals are saying it’s the most there’s been in years.”

“Sweet,” Brendon says. “You taking photos?”

“My mom has a camera permanently attached to her face,” he answers. “Ryan’s getting really skittish.”

“Bullshit,” Brendon says, laughing. “Ryan loves getting his photo taken, don’t lie to me.”

“It’s not good for his image to admit it, though,” Spencer says, grinning.

“It’s not good for his image to do anything vaguely fun,” Brendon says, and he’s teasing, Spencer knows he is, because Brendon and Ryan have been known to go on midnight escapades to playgrounds or have contests to see who can eat and drink the most while standing on their heads, but he stiffens anyway, falls silent. Brendon’s quiet for a moment, waiting for the response, and then he says, “Spence? I was kidding.”

“I know,” Spencer says. “Sorry.”

Brendon says, “Only usually, you would have laughed or something.”

“Jeez, Brendon,” Spencer says. “I’m not mad.”

“I know you’re not,” Brendon says easily. “I’m just… Is everything okay, down there?”

“Everything’s fine,” Spencer tells him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Spence,” Brendon says.

“Right.” Spencer squishes the phone between his shoulder and his ear and rubs tiredly at his face, knuckling the sleep out of his eyes. Brendon is quiet down the line, breathing and waiting, and Spencer thinks a little irritably that it _would_ be now that Brendon suddenly acquires the ability to be patient.

 _"Do you ever think," Spencer says, "That you know someone so well that they can't like, can't--"_

 _"Change?" Brendon offers._

 _"No," Spencer says. "No, that's fine, it's just, you don't think there's any chance that _you_ and them can change.”_

“I think it’s kind of important that you have to be able to,” Brendon says. “Change with them, I mean. You don’t want to have a relationship that’s still based on building mud pies when you’re thirty, you know.”

Thirty is such a long way away, Spencer thinks, only a year less than half of his life already, the whole thing lived over again, and he still doesn’t want to imagine it without Ryan. Spencer says, “Maybe that didn’t… that’s not exactly what I meant. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s okay,” Brendon says.

“It’s like,” Spencer tries again, “When someone you know too well starts reacting in like… a different way and you don’t know how to deal with that.”

“Alright,” Brendon says, slowly. He’s quiet for a moment and then he says, “If it… I think you’ll work it out, you know. You’ve known Ryan a long time. I don’t think you know him _too_ well at all.”

Spencer’s head hurts. “Who says we’re talking about Ryan?” he asks, striving for lightness, and is rewarded when Brendon laughs. “Crystal’s been really annoying, lately.”

Brendon launches into a story about how the other day, Kara and her son were over and Brendon was halfway to the local record store when he realised that Adam was trailing behind him, dressed only in a Superman cape. Spencer leans back against the wall and thinks maybe Brendon’s wrong, maybe he does know Ryan too well of all a sudden.

*

It’s a week before Spencer’s parents announce that they’re taking Crystal and Jackie out to the closest town before they go stir-crazy, asking if Spencer and Ryan want to come along. Ryan says, “Man, I’m beat, I think I might just hang out here,” and Spencer says, “I’ll keep you company.”

When they leave, Ryan hooks an arm around Spencer’s neck to kiss him and Spencer leans in close. They’re the same height, almost, and Spencer’s still growing; he thinks soon he’ll be taller than Ryan. Ryan is smiling against his mouth and it’s not a very good kiss (weird, that Spencer knows now what a good kiss is), but Spencer’s heart is hammering in his chest all of a sudden, fierce and unrelenting and bruising against his ribs. He thinks suddenly that maybe something’s gone wrong, or just unplanned (which is the same thing) and he wants to ask but doesn’t know how. That’s a weird kind of feeling to have around Ryan.

Instead he pulls away and says, “Come on, then,” and Ryan laughs, breathless and exhilarated. Spencer’s head is whirling, Ryan’s groping a little clumsily at his dick through his jeans and Spencer takes a step forward, lets Ryan lead them up two flights of stairs and into their bedroom.

They strip quickly and Spencer realises with a cold shock it’s the first time they’ve seen each other properly naked, not with their backs turned or talking through a cracked bathroom door or even shirts on in the backseat of Spencer’s parents’ car, and he stops to stare for a moment, fingers tripping down Ryan’s narrow ribs. Ryan looks self-conscious and awkward again but Spencer kisses him, hands on Ryan’s bare hips and Ryan smiles.

Time speeds up; Spencer tries to keep his thoughts reasonably clear but it’s hard, Ryan like a small force of nature around him, kissing and biting and then his fingers inside Spencer, that odd, painful feeling that shifts when Spencer isn’t paying attention. Ryan’s eyes are dark and huge and he licks around his fingers again, sucks Spencer’s dick for a minute before sitting up and shoving at his shoulder.

“I think,” Ryan says, cautiously, “I think it’ll be better if you’re on your stomach or knees or something—”

“Okay,” Spencer says, and wants again to ask Ryan if it hurt, even though he knows it’s just stupid nerves this time. He rolls over onto his stomach and then shifts upwards, up onto his knees and his elbows, and Ryan is behind him, forehead resting against his back, breath hot against the knob at the top of Spencer’s spine.

“Ready?” Ryan breathes. The tip of his cock is pressing against Spencer’s hole and Spencer nods mindlessly, Ryan’s hand wrapped around his cock, stroking firmly as he pushes in. It hurts, it hurts, Spencer gasps and slips further down onto his arms and Ryan stops halfway in, voice ragged when he says, “Spence?”

“Yeah,” Spencer says, voice choked. “Yeah, keep going, yeah,” and Ryan moves, pushes in and it still hurts but it’s good, beneath that, the sting fading and thousands of weird, tiny sparks of pleasure that surprise Spencer. His cock is still hard against his stomach and Ryan rubs his fingers over the head, makes a surprised, rough noise when Spencer pushes back onto his cock. The colours in the bedroom seem sharp and distinct, the blind halfway up so that the cold winter light floods in, and Spencer pants and whimpers despite himself, moving mindlessly, wishing he could see Ryan’s face.

It doesn’t hurt that much anymore, it feels pretty fucking amazing even though Ryan is clumsy, rhythm faltering, and Spencer makes embarrassing noises into the pillow, grateful and frightened that it’s Ryan, this is all Ryan. He thinks, abruptly, _we’re too young for this_ , and then that gets blocked out with _RyanRyanRyan_ , until he realises he’s not thinking Ryan’s name, he’s saying it, a low, mumbled litany that makes Ryan answer him, a groaned yes. Spencer thinks it doesn’t matter that they never said the question – he and Ryan don’t need to, not really.

Afterward, Ryan rolls off of him and the bed, does something with the condom. Spencer lies boneless on the mattress until Ryan comes up and kisses him, a little sloppy, their noses bumping awkwardly.

“You okay?” Ryan whispers.

“Yeah,” Spencer says. He still feels dazed, smiling crookedly up at Ryan. “Yeah, I get what you mean, now. Fucking awesome.”

Ryan grins at him. He touches Spencer’s cheek quickly and says, “Are you about to pass out?”

“Umn,” Spencer says. He stretches tentatively; his ass twinges a bit but not as bad as he was expecting, and really he feels kind of boneless and sleepy. “Possibly? That’s pretty lame, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. He’s still grinning. “Plus, you should probably shower first. Don’t want your mom to find you all debauched.”

“Urgh, Ryan, _please_ ,” Spencer says, but he climbs up off the bed, shifting awkwardly a little. He says, “Mind if I go first?”

Ryan pauses, shifting his weight to one foot. “Or,” he suggests, tentatively, “We could just, like. Together.”

“Oh,” Spencer says. He blinks but then shrugs, says, “Yeah, sure, c’mon.”

They pull boxers on for the trip downstairs, and Spencer perches on the closed toilet lid while Ryan fiddles with the temperature for about a million years. Spencer normally turns both hot and cold halfway round and hopes for the best but when he voices this opinion Ryan gives him a vicious glare and ignores him.

“Alright,” Ryan announces finally, climbing out of his boxers. Spencer steps in behind him, a little awkward for no particular reason, and Ryan grins at him under the water, stepping back enough to make room. Spencer smiles back at him, oddly shy, and reaches for the soap.

“I think,” he says, conversationally, “Mom and Dad are going to kill us if they ever get a water bill for this month.”

“Oh, man,” Ryan says, voice choked like he was trying to hold back laughter. “Yeah. They’ll think we’ve gone—”

“—crazy or something,” Spencer finishes. “I think I’ve been underwater for like, half of the trip.”

“I don’t think a shower counts as underwater,” Ryan says. “Or else your skin would be all gross and pruney.” He holds out a hand and Spencer passes him the soap. He considers brushing his teeth but decides against it; Ryan’s in his way and he doesn’t want to accidentally spit foam all over Ryan’s feet. Ryan gets grumpy about the dumbest things.

“Even so,” Spencer says. “I’m cleaner than I’ve ever been before. It’s starting to freak me out.”

Ryan looks down at him a little disapprovingly. “You would be,” he says, stretching over Spencer’s head. “Except you never fucking wash your hair.”

“I do, too,” Spencer protests, trying not to laugh. “You don’t have to condition every day—”

“You’re such a _liar_ ,” Ryan says, mouth twitching. He squeezes some shampoo out into the palm of his hand and then beckons Spencer closer. The lines of his face are all soft, blurred in the steam fogging up the glass doors of the shower. Spencer comes closer warily, out of the heavy spray, and Ryan pushes his hands into Spencer’s hair, lathering up the shampoo.

Ryan’s not particularly gentle; he scrubs at Spencer’s scalp and drags his hands mercilessly through knots, but when he scratches with a strange affection behind Spencer’s ears Spencer can’t help tilting closer towards him. He keeps his eyes closed to avoid the shampoo and feels warm and comfortable, his dick hard again but not particularly urgent, and Ryan washes his hair.

Eventually Ryan shoves at Spencer’s chest, pushing him back under the water, but he steps close and follows him, fingers working the shampoo out of his hair, catching in the wet tangles. Ryan’s humming something, a little breathless and awkward with the water pouring around them, and Spencer can’t make out the tune under the sound of the shower but it’s weirdly comforting, Ryan’s rough notes.

Ryan slides his fingertips along Spencer’s neck, squeaky clean, and Spencer opens his eyes. Ryan is very, very close, wet eyelashes and hair falling over his face and he keeps his hands at Spencer’s neck, bringing them up enough to cup Spencer’s chin when he kisses him. Spencer wraps his hand around Ryan’s dick and Ryan makes a small, contented noise, rocking his hips up into Spencer’s grasp, then takes his hand away from Spencer’s face to reciprocate the gesture. The sound of the shower and the busy, humming noise in Spencer’s ears blocks out anything they might say to each other, but Spencer tilts his head forward and mouths silent words against Ryan’s shoulder all the same, elbows bumping under the hot water.

*

The next morning, Spencer wakes up alone in his bed with Ryan snuffling lightly into his own pillow a few feet away. It takes him a few minutes of blinking at the ceiling before he works out what’s going on; he’d fallen asleep last night with Ryan tapping a lazy pattern out across his ribs, after the third orgasm of the day (the stupid part of Spencer’s brain sent out a feeble, sleepy cheer) and it’s disorientating to wake up without Ryan slumped heavily against his side.

He crawls out of bed and glances at Ryan, but he’s still fast asleep so Spencer leaves him be and pads downstairs. It’s not until he’s making himself a sandwich for lunch that Ryan emerges, yawning and knuckling sleep out of his eyes.

“Morning,” Spencer says, but Ryan just lifts one shoulder and shuffles towards the fridge.

Spencer says, “I’m making a sandwich. You want one?”

“What’s on it?” Ryan asks, peering at him. He rubs at his eyes, pushing hair out of the way.

“Leftovers from Christmas lunch, mostly,” Spencer says. “I think Mom bought some avocado at the shops too, if you want that.”

“Oh,” Ryan says, looking pleased. He steps away from the fridge and up to Spencer, looking at the avocado on the sideboard with soft, lingering delight. “Yes, please.”

“Freak,” Spencer says, reaching for the avocado and scrunching up his nose as he slices into it. Ryan has fucking weird taste in food, especially sandwiches.

Ryan says, “Thanks.” He leans against the counter and gives small, quiet answers to Spencer’s attempts at conversation; not grumpy, Spencer doesn’t think, just distracted. When Spencer holds out the finished sandwich Ryan smiles slowly at him, and leans in.

“Dude,” Spencer says, half-giggling, “My mom’s in the next—” but then he stops, because Ryan isn’t kissing him, has just leaned in enough to rest his forehead against the side of Spencer’s head and breathe in against his cheekbone. One of his hands rests on Spencer’s stomach, just gently.

“Ryan?” Spencer asks, a little uncertainly. “You okay?”

Ryan snaps back upright, face blank. “Fine,” he says, and takes the sandwich. “Thanks.” Then he walks away.

*

Spencer hears the front door slam after lunch and catches a glimpse of Ryan walking past the window, shoulders hunched and head ducked down, so he heads into the lounge by himself for a while. The twins are up in their room and his dad is on the phone next door while his mom washes the breakfast and lunch dishes, and it’s kind of nice to just be alone for a little while.

He’s stretched out on the couch with the book Brendon lent him before they went away when Ryan reappears. He sits up a little bit to wave hi but Ryan doesn’t really respond, just looks at him and then comes and sits down on the other end of the couch, back straight and oddly formal. Spencer lies back down, shifting a little uncomfortably (his ass is still kind of sore) and mostly ignores Ryan – the book is really good, he’ll give it to Ryan after he’s done. Ryan doesn’t say anything, but after a few minutes he pokes absently at Spencer’s foot.

“Quit it,” Spencer says comfortably. He raises his sock-clad feet and dumps them in Ryan’s lap, but Ryan only sits still for a minute before he stands up suddenly, Spencer’s feet sliding down. “Hey,” Spencer says, a little irritably, and Ryan rolls his eyes at him before wandering out of the room.

Ryan looks fidgety, unsettled and freaked in his own skin the way Spencer’s only seen him get on occasion. Normally, Spencer would follow him, work out what was wrong through a careful mix of silence and bugging him and non sequiturs, but all of a sudden today he feels surprisingly vicious. Like he wants to start a fight, or just a quiet, tinge of cruel pleasure at the idea that Ryan’s lost the calmness in the way he’s moved and talked for most of the holidays. If Spencer thinks about it, he’ll admit that he’s a little embarrassed, too. He let Ryan _fuck_ him, he really _liked_ it, pushed back into it, and it’s not so much the fact that a guy did that – Spencer’s not gay _and_ homophobic – as it is that Ryan did it. Spencer doesn’t know, really, what that’s supposed to mean.

Spencer sighs and tilts backwards again, stretching out to rest his feet on the armrest and reaches for his phone. There’s a message from Brent that says _hey happy late xmas u guys having fun_ and Spencer replies to it absently, mind drifting. He waits for a moment and then sends another one, saying _have you seen bden? is he okay_ , and only feels a little bit guilty for talking about Brendon behind his back.

He can’t get back into his book, though, and Brent doesn’t respond immediately, so he ends up texting Brendon again, _whats up_. Brendon responds almost immediately with _not much. u?_ Spencer blinks at the screen, wonders how to say things or whether he even should, whether it’s betraying Ryan, and eventually texts back, _yeah, not much_.

Ryan comes back in, arms folded across his chest, eyes dark. He looks straight at Spencer and Spencer is wary almost immediately but doesn’t show it, lying back and fiddling with his phone. Ryan says, “What are you doing?”

His phone buzzes; _ross still weird??_ Brendon writes and Spencer swallows, looks up. “Texting Brendon,” he says.

Ryan makes a huffing, impatient noise and asks, "Jesus, don't you do anything _else_ anymore?" His voice is even and unreadable but his eyes are dark, mouth twisted in a furious line. Spencer blinks at him, caught off-guard with a frown and a faint smile lingering around his mouth, waiting for Ryan to laugh and admit how stupid he’s being, explain it, but Ryan just glares back at him, and then walks out of the room. He slams the door behind him and the last glimpse of his face that Spencer gets tells him that Ryan knows exactly how ridiculous he’s being, and just doesn’t care. Spencer sighs and sends back, _y_.

He picks the book up and tosses it on the floor, a little more violently than he needs to. Fucking, fucking Ryan – Spencer feels angry and frightened, wants to reach out and grab something, grab anything, make things make sense again. He doesn’t understand why Ryan is suddenly allowed to be angry with him, what’s with his sudden hypocrisy when it comes to Brendon. Next to him, the phone’s screen lights up again and Spencer reads, _listen to bono_.

He blinks for a moment and then answers, _dude from u2 right? idk him_. Brendon _would_ have to pick now to be cryptic, and Spencer runs his hand through his hair, thinks about going home and leaving the suddenly oppressive atmosphere of the house behind. Outside, he can hear Jackie and Crystal yelling to each other about something, high-pitched and excited, and he wants to go and shout at them to shut the fuck up, wants to tell his dad to turn the radio down in the kitchen and his mom to stop _laughing_ so goddamn loud, wants everything to be still and quiet, just for a little while, just until his head stops reeling.

His phone goes off again; Brendon says, _you n ryan have to listen to something other than fob and blink one of these days you know_ and then, barely thirty seconds later and before Spencer has had an adequate time to think of something appropriately bitchy to respond with, _its alright its alright its alright/she moves in mysterious ways_.

"What," Spencer says, and leaves the word hanging there without a question mark, a force, a declaration, something curious and confused and strong, everything the past few weeks have been. "What."

*

They live in different rooms for most of the day. When Spencer’s mom asks he shrugs, makes it incidental, makes it “we can’t follow each other around _all_ the time,” but it’s not completely true. This is calculated, Spencer knows, deliberate and it means he sees Ryan’s shadow more than he’s used to.

Ryan emerges for dinner and sits quietly next to Spencer. He’s got his thinking face on, eyes glazed over and twirling his fork absently in the air when he’s not eating with it, and Spencer’s family look at him mostly with amusement. Spencer feels itchy and too obvious in front of him, like Ryan can read every move he makes with simple, condescending understanding, far away and safe locked up in his own head. It makes him want to yell or pick a fight only he knows his parents wouldn’t get it, would tell him off.

Ryan goes to bed early, for him, but Spencer stays up and watches a movie with Jodie Foster in it with his mom and dad. He doesn’t go up to bed until half past twelve, nearly three hours since Ryan left, but when he opens the door and sneaks in, Ryan sits up.

“Hey,” Spencer says, warily. He’s not sure if he’s ready for a confrontation yet, and Ryan looks fierce and unhappy in the darkness.

“Hey,” Ryan returns. He slides out of bed, and stretches his hands behind his back awkwardly; his sweatshirt rides up a bit, revealing a thin stripe of skin between his boxers and the shirt. Spencer clasps his hands together, cracks his knuckles.

“So,” Spencer says, because there’s not any point pretending they’re not fighting just because they haven’t said anything, but Ryan crosses the floor too fast for him to say anything else, clutching mindlessly at Spencer’s shoulders and shoving him up against the door. Ryan kisses him fierce and sloppy, mouth biting and sucking and pressing at Spencer’s as though Ryan wasn’t sure what he wanted to do first, and Spencer wants to tell Ryan how much shit they’re in, how much trouble this is going to be, but he doesn’t. Ryan’s hands are on his jeans, unbuttoning them and shoving them awkwardly down and Spencer just, doesn’t.

*

Spencer’s pretty sure it’s not healthy, but they go on like that for three days, ignoring each other all day and avoiding being in the other’s presence and then at night, Ryan will kiss him, mouth hot and desperate, and Spencer feels the whole thing as a dirty little secret all of a sudden when he didn’t before.

They’ve never fought like this before, which sounds too obvious in Spencer’s head, but it’s not even just because of the sex (fuck, Spencer though, this was such a bad idea, one of their worst) – it’s like they’re pretending everything’s fine. They’ve never done this before, they always, always fight, and Ryan inevitably gets sullen and cruel and Spencer goes nuclear, slamming doors and shouting until his face has gone an embarrassing shade of red. Now, they just don’t speak. Spencer wonders if they even know how to, anymore.

On Wednesday night, Spencer goes to bed and falls asleep in an empty room. He’s woken up, though, to Ryan crawling in next to him and the radio clock on the bedside table flashing 3:17 at him in the blurry dark.

“Hey, what,” Spencer mumbles, trying to wake up, and Ryan presses all up along Spencer’s body and kisses him and Spencer realises, sparks darting up his spine, cheeks flushing warm, that Ryan’s naked.

“Spence,” Ryan whispers, and then he’s urging Spencer to sit up, tugging his shirt off of him and kissing him, hunched over Spencer, arms dangling awkwardly over Spencer’s shoulders. Spencer attempts to breathe in and it comes as a gasp, and Ryan hums, satisfied.

“Dude, I don’t – what?” Spencer manages, and Ryan ducks his head, shoving at Spencer’s hips until he lifts them enough for Ryan to drag his boxers down. Spencer’s half hard already and Ryan strokes his dick, fingers wet and slippery, and Spencer breathes, “Ryan.”

“You wanna fuck?” Ryan whispers, ducking his head to kiss Spencer again. Spencer breathes out harshly and their teeth knock in the dark. “Come on,” Ryan says, “Come on, fuck me, I want you to—”

“Jesus,” Spencer says. “No. Everyone’s _here_.”

“They’re asleep,” Ryan hisses. “They’re asleep and I, I can be quiet, we can be quiet, please, Spence, I can’t sleep.”

Spencer shudders, body cold and hot all over, and he whispers, “Have you got stuff?” Ryan presses a condom and lube into his hands and god, Spencer didn’t even notice Ryan holding them.

“Quickly, quickly,” Ryan murmurs, and Spencer’s fingers shake when he tries to open the packet, it takes him two tries. Ryan won’t stop kissing him, mouth lingering on Spencer’s jaw, biting just soft enough that it won’t leave a mark on his neck, tugging at Spencer’s earlobe with his teeth (which Spencer always thought was a cheesy, dumb sort of move, but fuck, now he gets why people do it).

Finally he gets the condom on and reaches for the lube, smearing some over his cock and then reaching for Ryan, but Ryan shakes his head. “It’s alright,” he says, as they wriggle around, Ryan lying back on Spencer’s pillow and pulling his knees up, legs spread wide, while Spencer tries not to stare. “It’s alright,” Ryan repeats, “I already did it, I’m ready.”

“Fuck,” Spencer whispers, and lines himself up, supporting himself over Ryan and trying not to lean, not to slump against him as is the temptation. He’ll crush Ryan, and it won’t be very useful for moving, either.

Ryan blinks up at him and nods just once, and Spencer pushes in. His cock slides in easily enough, so Ryan did, Ryan lay on the bed a few feet away from him and slid slick fingers into his ass, and thought about Spencer, wanted Spencer to fuck him. Spencer lets out a low groan and Ryan twists on the bed beneath him, face tight and strained as Spencer tightens his fingers in the sheets and pushes in all the way inside, Ryan’s ass clenching around him until he thinks he’s going to lose his mind.

“Move,” Ryan whispers, frantic, and then he shifts his legs up, wrapping them around Spencer’s waist, ankles hooked together. “ _Move_ , Spencer,” and Spencer does, quiet as he can, biting back curses, trying to keep the only sound their twin, noisy breathing and the occasional, slightly disgusting (but also weirdly hot) noise of Spencer’s cock in Ryan’s ass, skin slapping together or the slick, gross noises the lube makes.

Ryan has his own hand wrapped around his cock, jerking himself off, thumb sweeping across the head, and Spencer would help him out with that, he would, except he’s still trying to get his balance right and also he’s still really fucking pissed at Ryan. He doesn’t know why Ryan thinks this is going to solve anything; he doesn’t even know if Ryan does think that, in the first place. Somewhere along the line Ryan became strange and unknown, incomprehensible to Spencer.

“Fuck,” Ryan chokes out, and Spencer watches the rhythm of his hand go jerky until Ryan whimpers and rolls his hips up, closer to Spencer, coming all over his stomach. His ass tightens around Spencer’s cock and Spencer garbles out something incoherent and follows Ryan, collapsing over them.

Ryan lies still for maybe a minute before shoving at Spencer’s shoulder. “Hey,” he says, voice even. “You’re squashing me.”

Spencer orders his brain to start working again and rolls to the side, half-off the bed. Ryan gets up off the bed awkwardly, and Spencer watches the stiff way he moves and thinks _maybe I was too rough, fuck, was I too rough?_ and _is he angry?_ Ryan crosses to his own bed and pulls back the covers, crawling in and rolling onto his stomach.

Spencer stands up too, pulls off the condom and ties up the end. He crosses the floor to the wastebasket and thinks he’ll have to remember to empty it tomorrow before anybody but them notices. Standing there, by the window with the blind pulled down too far to let in any starlight, he says, despite himself, “Ryan?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, voice muffled, face turned away from Spencer. “Thanks. Goodnight.”

“Night,” Spencer says. His stomach clenches. His bed is warm, at least, and Ryan didn’t leave a wet spot.

*

The next morning, Ryan is still there. He’s dressed and leaning against the window, blind pulled up, hands curled around the sill, and the light flooding through makes Spencer blink and sit up slowly, pushing hands groggily through his hair.

“Hey,” he says, voice thick.

“Morning,” Ryan says, voice low. Spencer crawls out of bed in his boxers, looking for the t-shirt discarded on the floor, and finds his hoodie instead, pulling that on. It still doesn’t feel dressed enough, compared to Ryan in his jeans and sweater, but it’ll have to do.

“So,” Spencer says, meaninglessly. Ryan turns around and there are dark shadows under his eyes that make Spencer stare; didn’t he get _any_ sleep last night? Ryan looks squarely back at him, chin tilted up defiantly, and folds his arms over his chest.

“So,” he echoes mockingly, and something unpleasant curls in Spencer’s stomach.

“Jesus, Ryan,” Spencer says sharply, and sits down on his bed. “Seriously, what the fuck is your _problem_?”

Ryan narrows his eyes, dark with poorly concealed anger. “I don’t have a problem,” he says.

“Clearly you do,” Spencer says, “and I’m fucking sick of avoiding it.”

“How _can_ you?” Ryan spits. “You’re _always_ there, I turn around and you’re always fucking there, I can’t get any fucking space—”

“Oh, right,” Spencer says, hot anger burning in his chest. “Yeah, because I forgot about how I crawled into your bed last night and begged you to fuck me.”

Ryan freezes and Spencer smiles, grimly pleased. He’s maybe a tiny bit ashamed, enough that he knows he’ll feel guilty about this later, but right now it’s too satisfying, Ryan’s argument blown to bits and his composure with it.

“I,” Ryan starts, uncertainly, and then stops.

He stares at Spencer almost helplessly and Spencer smiles again, feels it tighten cruelly around his teeth, sharp in the edges. “Yeah, whatever,” he says. “You’ve been fucking weird since we started this whole thing and I’m not even sure if I wanna deal with it anymore—”

“So don’t,” Ryan says, harshly. “It was a bad idea. You think I don’t know that? It was a terrible fucking idea and I don’t know why I thought it would work with _you_.”

Spencer blinks at him, mouth open. “Oh, gee, thanks, Ryan,” he says, buying time, long enough for his ears to start buzzing, his thoughts to start functioning properly again.

“No,” Ryan says, quietly. He looks down at the floor and breathes out loudly; Spencer watches his chest move, his shoulders slump. “No, sorry, I didn’t mean that. I just think—”

“Yeah,” Spencer says, voice sounding strange to his own ears. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe like… we shouldn’t have messed around with things when we didn’t… know what was going to happen.” It sounds ridiculous once he’s said it, not what he meant at all, but Ryan nods, gaze on the floor.

“Um,” Ryan says. Spencer wishes Ryan would just look at him, but he doesn’t, just adds, “Yeah, I mean. We don’t want to mess anything up. With the band and stuff, too, it would suck if it finished before we were even famous enough to get on Behind The Music.”

The fucking _band_ , Spencer wants to say, but he just nods, says, “This stuff never turns out well, anyway. We should… stop while we’re ahead. Or whatever.”

“Okay,” Ryan says. “Okay, so, we’ll be fine.”

“Sure,” Spencer tells him. “Yeah, sure, we’re good.”

“Okay.” Ryan looks up and pushes hair out of his eyes, says, “I’m glad, then.”

Spencer shifts uncomfortably and then stands up, says, “D’you wanna, like…” He takes a few steps forward, awkwardly, and then attempts a grin, says, “Hug it out?”

“You’re so lame,” Ryan breathes, but he meets Spencer across the floor and Spencer hugs him tentatively, hands overlapping on Ryan’s back, Ryan curving around his shoulder. Spencer had intended it to be a short hug, didn’t want to make things even more awkward than they were, and it _is_ awkward but he stays anyway, the moment lingering on in the quiet morning.

Ryan says in a low voice, in Spencer’s ear, “You’re my best friend,” and Spencer nods, and kind of wants to cry.

*

A week and a half left of vacation, and Ryan sits silently next to Spencer, stiff against his side. They’ve spent the past few days seemingly trying to prove to each other that everything’s fine, sticking close, doing everything as normal as they can manage it. Spencer hates it, wants to either pick another fight (except they’re not fighting, now, they fixed that) and drag up every stupid annoying quirk Ryan has, throw them in his face until Ryan grits his teeth together and turns white, or, worse, maybe, kiss him again.

It was a mistake, Ryan said, and Spencer knows it was, yes, but he doesn’t know how to undo it, now. Ryan flinches every time Spencer touches him but insists on sitting close, and Spencer’s not stupid, he knows what Ryan’s doing; trying to reclaim some old friendship, some old sense of them as a pair that seems fleeting in hindsight, and long gone. Spencer doesn’t know if finding it again is even remotely possible.

When Ryan’s not sitting next to him like a morose, wooden puppet, he’s off on the phone with Brendon. Spencer still thinks Ryan was an asshole about the Brendon thing, doesn’t even understand why he was, and it’s discomforting to realise that _he_ wants to snap at Ryan about calling Brendon all the time, too.

Seriously, though, it’s like, _constant_. Spencer tries calling Brent a few times when Ryan’s hunched over the phone in an empty room, murmuring quietly and shooting sharp, and then falsely apologetic, looks over his shoulder when Spencer appears, but Brent’s busy a lot, out with his other friends, and Spencer feels hot, unnecessary anger building up in him again. Brendon calls him a few times and Spencer knows that he’s rude on the phone, and that Brendon sounds hurt, but he can’t quite bring himself to stop being so cruel.

“Stop it, Spence,” Brendon says eventually, sounding tired and pissed off. “I’m sick of this fucking – I don’t know what’s going on up there, but there’s no way you can blame it on me, okay?”

“I’m not blaming anything on you,” Spencer says, and then adds, snidely, “You don’t have the slightest idea, anyway.”

“I have some idea,” Brendon mumbles, and then, when Spencer’s only response is a scoffing sound, he says, “Can’t you just. Spence, can’t you fix it?”

“I haven’t _done_ anything,” Spencer says.

“Yeah,” Brendon agrees, sounding slightly amused, and a little bit condescending. Spencer wants to punch him in the face. Like Brendon is some crazily wise guru, seriously. “That’s what Ryan says, too.”

“Oh, well if _Ryan_ says so, then he must be right,” Spencer says. “Why don’t you call him up, again? You and him could have some more deep and meaningful—”

“Fuck’s sake, Spence,” Brendon cuts in. “I’m not getting any of the fun of your vacation, I don’t see why the fuck I have to suffer through the shitty times with you.”

“You _don’t_ ,” Spencer says, and he almost adds _except for how you won’t leave Ryan alone_ , and then thinks better of it. It’s not Brendon he’s angry at, not really. He breathes in, breathes out, and says, “Sorry.”

“Yeah,” Brendon says. “Whatever, Spencer. I’ll talk to Ross ‘cos at least he’s pitiful rather than just fucking _aggressive_. See you later.”

“Wait,” Spencer says, before he can think about it, “What the fuck does _pitiful_ mean—”

“I’ll talk to you later, Spencer,” Brendon says, firmly, and hangs up. Spencer holds the phone to his ear a moment longer and then tosses it to the floor, hoping stupidly for a crack or a smash, but all it does is bounce.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” he says.

*

Jackie comes down with a mild cold and immediately proclaims that she has the plague, and possibly Ebola (“Um,” Ryan says, “Do you even know what Ebola is?” and Spencer’s mom laughs and Crystal giggles a little guiltily, and Spencer stares at the discoloured patch on the wall) and promptly retires to bed with the portable DVD player and chicken soup. Crystal spends the ensuing two days talking about how _bored_ she is, until Spencer’s mom starts to look very stressed and Ryan checks rooms twice before entering so as to avoid the possibility of being roped into yet another badly played game of Poker, and finally Spencer’s dad points at Spencer with a wooden spoon and says, “You.”

“Me?” Spencer says, glancing around instinctively.

“Go take your sister outside,” his dad says, “before we murder her and blame it on you. Teenage boys are unstable, you know.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Spencer says, but his dad sends him a threatening look and Crystal looks up at him with huge, pleading eyes, and he goes to fetch his hoodie and scarf and gloves, grumbling the whole time.

They get outside and Crystal declares that she wants to make a snowman, and Spencer can think of worse ways to spend an afternoon, at least. They start piling up snow, breathing hard with cheeks flushed pink from the snow, and Crystal’s nose is starting to go red on the end, like an elf, and Spencer thinks that maybe his sister isn’t so bad some of the time, after all.

Despite nearly five weeks in Colorado, though, they’re still not very used to snow, and the snowman is starting to come out decidedly on the weird side. Crystal won’t stop giggling and patting anxiously at the side that is starting to slope suspiciously towards the ground, and Spencer concentrates on kicking around under the piles of snow for stones for the eyes.

It’s a little on the scrawny side for a snowman, but Spencer thinks it’s pretty okay, considering they’re still relative newcomers to the whole winter wonderland theme. Crystal finds a long, thin stick and starts snapping it into little pieces to make eyelashes with, and they take a step back together to survey it before going searching for things to make a mouth and nose with.

“Huh,” Spencer says. It’s weirdly familiar.

Crystal bursts out laughing. “Oh my God,” she says, “It looks like _Ryan_.”

It does, in a crazy, snowman-ish kind of way; they made the body too thin and Crystal had snapped the sticks she found for arms in half, attempting to make elbows, and as a result the arms dangle loosely at its side. The huge eyes with long eyelashes don’t help the general impression, and Crystal almost falls over, she laughs so hard.

“Okay, fine,” Spencer says, “But he still needs stuff.”

“Yeah, wait,” Crystal says, and races inside. Spencer sees her reflection in the lounge before she dashes back out with one of Ryan’s abandoned newsboy caps, and she tugs it on a jaunty angle while Spencer goes looking for some more stones that he presses in at a weird angle for a mouth, the corner twisting unhappily downwards.

“That’s _mean_ ,” Crystal says, but she goes inside to get a small piece of carrot (“Ryan doesn’t have a big, pointy one,” she tells him, mouth twitching) for a nose.

They stand back after their done, puffing and triumphant, breath living a mist in their air, and Crystal puts on a funny voice. “Look at me,” she says, pitching her voice as low as she can and removing any trace of emotion from it. “I’m Ryan Ross, The Snowman.”

“I’m so emo,” Spencer adds, mimicking her tone, “that none of the other snowmen will play with me. In summer, I will not melt, as my heart will keep me icy cold.”

“You’re so _mean_ ,” Crystal says again, and then the front door shuts and they both turn around to see Ryan coming slowly across to them. Crystal starts giggling helplessly, and Spencer copies her despite himself – the sight of Ryan, unsure and solemn against the white, makes his stomach do the same, unhappy, twisting thing he’s getting used to, but he also looks enough like his snowy twin for Spencer to start laughing again.

“What is it?” Ryan asks, caught off-guard and bewildered when he reaches them. He looks helplessly at them, then at the snowman, as if maybe the snowman will be able to tell him the joke. Spencer chokes at the thought, laughing harder.

“What is it?” Ryan says again, more confused than ever. He looks back at the snowman. “Why is it wearing my hat?”

Crystal squeaks, falling forward, and Spencer hangs onto her shoulders, trying to keep them both upright. Ryan stands awkwardly to the side, waiting until their laughter finally trails off, and when Spencer looks up at him again Ryan’s head is cocked sideways, mouth open and pink in the cold. He’s hit by a sudden _want_ , and puts his hands in his pockets, as if they don’t know what his head knows and might, accidentally, reach out.

Crystal opens her mouth to explain, but Spencer cuts over her. “Nothing,” he says, voice cool. “Don’t worry about it.”

Ryan nods, eyes on the ground.

*

That night, though, it’s clear that Ryan’s managed to work himself up into a bad mood again, about that or about something else or _anything_. Spencer doesn’t care anymore. He very nearly thinks, _I don’t_ have _to care anymore_ , but that’s wrong, because he and Ryan didn’t break up or anything because they weren’t together. He’s still Ryan’s friend. Friends care about each other.

“ _Spencer_ ,” Ryan says impatiently. “For the hundredth time, would you _please_ pass the fu— the potatoes.”

Spencer blinks innocently at him, chewing with his mouth full and open, the way Ryan hates, and then he shoves the potatoes over with particular vehemence, knocking them hard against Ryan’s bony elbow. Crystal regards them warily over the table and looks like she wishes she’d asked to eat in her room with Jackie instead; Spencer’s parents, luckily, are ignoring them, talking quietly to each other.

“After dinner,” Spencer says to Crystal, “Want to watch The Italian Job with me?”

Ryan exhales loudly and with an enormous sense of superiority. Spencer hates that he can tell.

He turns, slowly. “Problem with that?”

“Only that you’ve seen that movie a million times,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes. “And it’s really fucking sad that you think that’s, like, quality or something. Although I guess you wouldn’t know better. Hey, dude, do you even pay attention to the plot? Or are you too busy checking out Charlize Theron’s cleavage?”

Spencer gapes at him.

Ryan, unconcerned, continues blithely. “Don’t you think that’s a little bit sick to watch it with your baby sister, then? I mean,” he says, voice low and fast, “if you’re _going_ to jerk off—”

Spencer punches Ryan hard in the arm, grinding his knuckle in, and making Ryan cut off with a hiss of pain, face screwing up for a moment. It hurt, Spencer knows, and it would have hurt more if Spencer had punched Ryan in the face, which was the other course of action open to him (except for his parents and sister sitting right there).

“I hate you,” he whispers, while Crystal stares at them both, mouth open and looking upset. “I hate you so fucking much—”

“Oh, how that pains me,” Ryan says. “Please let me go cry myself to sleep.” He slams up to his feet, finally attracting Spencer’s parents’ attention and says, fierce and intent, like he wants them to believe it, “Thanks for the meal,” before storming out of the room.

Spencer’s family stares at him. Spencer swallows hard.

“So,” he says, eyes resting on Crystal. “The Italian Job?”

*

Spencer’s mom makes him and Crystal wash the dishes, first, and Spencer’s a little worried a lecture is going to come, but she doesn’t say anything, just lets them go off and watch their movie. Afterward (and it’s a good movie, whatever, Ryan doesn’t know what he’s talking about, it’s funny and clever and Spencer likes Matt Damon) Crystal goes to bed, yawning, and for lack of anything better to do, Spencer does, too.

He pauses outside their room, though, because the door is ajar and light is filtering through. He can hear Ryan’s voice too.

“No, I know,” Ryan says. “I do, Brendon, I.” Quiet, and Spencer puts his hand on his stomach, hopes he’s not breathing too loud. Ryan sounds so fucking _tired_ ; Spencer wonders if he’s been talking to Brendon the whole time. Ryan says, “I just like… I want to. And all the time, it’s always fucking— yeah. And then I miss you, too.”

Spencer turns around and goes down the hallway as softly as he can, trying not to feel like a huge creep in his own – holiday house. Or whatever.

Downstairs, his mom is sitting at the kitchen table playing solitaire by hand. She’s the only person Spencer knows who still does that, who even remembers how to deal it out when there’s not a computer doing it for you, and she’s really good at shuffling, too. Crystal and Jackie are good at card games as well; Spencer takes after his dad, and is mostly just very good at losing spectacularly. (“We’re a disgrace,” his dad will say, “A disgrace to all of Las Vegas. How dare we live in this city and fail at gambling as much as we do?” He looks at Spencer solemnly, says, “I married your mother for her card skills, Spence.”) (Spencer doesn’t know why he keeps thinking about stupid, irrelevant things, mind bleary and confused, wandering aimlessly from place to place.)

“Hey, kid,” she says when he appears in the doorway, looking up and smiling. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” Spencer says. He shifts from foot to foot, asks, “Can I have a hot chocolate?”

“Sure,” she says. “Powder in the cupboard to your left. Make me one, too? The kettle should be full.”

“Okay,” Spencer says. He goes about making the cups as methodically as possible, measuring out the heaped teaspoons and trying to pour the water up to the exact height. It’s stupid, and he knows his mom is watching him, knows his mom is all too perceptive when guessing that he’s upset about something, but he can’t quite bring himself to look at anyone right now. Getting teaspoons of cocoa just right is a good enough way as any to force himself to steady his fingers.

“Thanks,” his mom says when he brings the cups over. Spencer shrugs and goes to leave, moving slowly, but she pulls him back like he knew she would, asking, “You want to sit down awhile with me?”

“Sure,” Spencer says. He sits next to her, hunched around his cup, and she reaches out and smoothes her hand over his shoulder, rubbing mindlessly at the tight knot of muscles.

“You’ve gotten yourself upset over something,” she tells him, voice warm, and Spencer laughs stupidly, almost choking on it. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Spencer hates it when people call him pet names. He shrugs it off, though, says, “Nothing. I’m just. I’m really sick of Ryan.”

“You’ve been in his company a lot these past few weeks,” she agrees. “It’s natural to get tired of someone always being around, I think.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”

“Have you guys been fighting?” she asks.

“Um,” Spencer says. He knows the answer (yes, yes, and now I don’t know how to stop) but not how to explain it. “Sort of. It’s weird. It’s like he won’t admit it.”

“He’s always been stubborn,” she says, and Spencer laughs mirthlessly down at his drink. She adds, thoughtfully, “So are you, which is probably where you two come to blows.”

“Not my fault if he’s being a – a jerk,” Spencer says, and she nods, makes a sympathetic sound. Spencer knows that his mom loves Ryan with this weird, fierce passion; when he was little, and his mom used to catch them fighting, rolling around on the ground and throwing misguided punches, she used to smack him and send him to his room and then get Ryan bandaids, and he used to think that maybe she loved Ryan more, that she wished he was her son, and not Spencer. It took him ages to realise that really, she did it because it was the other way around, and because Ryan never had anyone on his side. Still, it’s nice now to not have her stick up for Ryan immediately.

They drink in silence for a few minutes and then Spencer says, “I think I should go to bed. I’m tired.”

“Go to bed, then,” she says, smiling at him.

“I can’t,” he says, a little petulantly. “Ryan’s talking to Brendon. Ryan’s _always_ talking to Brendon when I want to sleep, it’s fu— it’s really annoying.”

“Brendon’s probably lonely,” his mom says.

“Yeah,” Spencer says. “I’m not angry at Brendon.” He looks at the table, finger tracing figure eights on the plastic surface, and admits, “I don’t even know what to – it’s like he doesn’t _like_ me anymore.”

"Spencer," his mom says gently, and pushes his hair behind his ear, hand lingering on the curve of his cheek, "You know Ryan's gay, right?"

Spencer stares at her, mouth falling open, mind racing. How could she know that? Has she heard them? Has she _seen_ them, oh God, did she walk in and then— but what a weird way to announce that she knows, why wouldn't she come out with _are_ you _gay_ or _so, you boys are having underage sex under my roof now_ or— no, seriously, how does she even _know_ that— and what the fuck is he supposed to say? He settles on blinking at her and asking, voice wavering a little, "What?"

"Well," she says, and she lets her hand drop away but holds his gaze, eyes the same as his staring straight at him, like she knows every minute working of his head. "It’s not that simple, I mean… Possibly bisexual, I don't think he's entirely worked it out yet. It's confusing for him right now. You understand that, don't you?"

"Mom," Spencer says weakly, "How do you _know_ this?"

"He told me," she says. "About a year ago. I don't think he knew who else to talk to. I'm telling you now because – it _is_ a confusing time, Spencer, and I don't want him telling you, if he ever does, only to have your reaction be a little... off-putting. I know you wouldn't do it deliberately."

"Mom," he says, "Mom—”

"Also," she says, soft and firm, voice cutting easily over his, "because you're his best friend, and it's easy to get mixed up about things. Just be careful of him, that’s what I’m saying."

"Be careful of _what_?" Spencer says.

"Not to mess his head up," she says easily, and curls her arm around Spencer's neck a little bit, leans forward and kisses his forehead. "You're a good kid, Spence, and a good friend. Be nice to Ryan. That's all."

*

Spencer goes to bed nearly an hour later, after his mom has convinced him to watch an episode of The West Wing with her (he doesn’t really know the show that well, but he’s seen enough episodes around the place with her to have a vague idea of who the characters are). He hesitates at the top of the stairs, because there’s light still glowing around the crack of their bedroom, but when he takes a few loud, firm steps down the passage the light switches off, and the room is dark when he gets inside.

Ryan is curled on his side, blankets pulled up over his shoulder, face half-turned into the pillow. Spencer would have known he was only pretending to be asleep even if he hadn’t seen the light go off, just through Ryan’s deep, exaggerated breaths – Ryan’s never been a very good actor – but he doesn’t say anything, just gets into his pajamas as quietly as he can, as if waking Ryan up is a possibility.

He almost, almost wishes Ryan was asleep, so that maybe he could – could sit beside him for a moment, and pretend that they were friends again and that when Ryan would wake up he could say _I can’t sleep_ and Ryan might tell him a story, or might just lie awake and talk drowsily about stupid, everyday things until he _bored_ Spencer to sleep. Or maybe he could ask, _why did you tell my mom and not me?_ and _were you scared? of me? how?_

If Ryan was asleep, Spencer thinks, he could probably get away with crawling in next to him, pressing up against Ryan’s back. In the morning he could try and wake up first and sneak away, or pretend he’d started sleepwalking, or maybe even that he was really tired when he went to bed and accidentally hopped in with Ryan without even thinking about it.

Ryan breathes in a deep, staggered breath and mumbles something soft and funny sounding under his breath, because Spencer’s told him in the past that Ryan talks in his sleep. Ryan doesn’t talk like that, all groggy and cute, but Spencer doesn’t bother telling him that. He gets into his own bed and goes to sleep.

That night, he dreams about being hot; humid jungles or just Vegas on a really hot day, lying sprawled out spread-eagled on his bed in boxers with an icy pole, complaining about the weather. On the floor, from the mattress he drags out when he stays over, Ryan writes him postcards that say _the sky is so lovely here_ and _you would like the snow, I think_ and _you should come visit_ , and refuses to believe Spencer when Spencer tells him they’re both here, stuck in the endless, oppressive heat.

*

Spencer comes down warily the next morning to find Ryan in the kitchen getting breakfast. Ryan looks up at him, and says, quietly, “Morning.”

“Hello,” Spencer says. He scratches his elbow, and Ryan stares at his feet.

“I was kind of an asshole,” Ryan says, half-whispers, really.

“Um,” Spencer says, caught off-guard. “That’s okay. Me too, I guess. Sorry.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “Yeah, I’m sorry, too.” He turns back to the counter, says, “Would you like some cereal?”

“Yes, please,” Spencer says, and notices that Ryan’s already gotten two bowls out, sitting there before Spencer even came in. He shakes the last of the Lucky Charms into a bowl and adds just the right amount of milk before he pushes it over to Spencer, and Spencer knows how to tell when Ryan’s really sorry, and when he’s faking it. He wants to touch Ryan, anywhere, but that didn’t go down so well last time. Instead, he just says, “Thank you.”

Ryan shrugs, eyes fixed on his own breakfast. “Anyway,” he says, “this whole thing has been really dumb. I don’t want to fight with you.”

“No,” Spencer agrees. He says, “We should just be more…” and then trails off, not sure what he wants them to be more, not sure if ‘more’ isn’t where they got into trouble in the first place.

“Amiable?” Ryan suggests, and then laughs a little when Spencer makes a face. That’s good, Spencer thinks, it’s good that he can laugh.

“You read too fucking much,” Spencer grumbles, and Ryan looks properly at him for the first time. “Why d’you have to read so much, I never understand a word you say.” It’s a lie, of course, but Ryan likes backhand compliments and Spencer likes Ryan.

“It is too long ago,” Ryan says in his quoting voice, half-smiling, half-regretful. “I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Spencer says. He takes a breath and says, “The snowman, the snowman yesterday was you.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “Crystal told me after.”

“Okay,” Spencer says, and they sit down and eat breakfast together.

*

Spencer thinks it’s bound to be weird, anyway, changing again, he was stupid not to expect a bit of strangeness when they stopped doing stuff and this is how it’s _meant_ to be. Soon it will all be over, anyway – the vacation winding its way to a close, which is weird, because it wasn’t that long ago that it felt like they still had months alone, just them up alone in the snow. Time sped up again, though, and now it’s almost time for everything to go back to normal – soon they can go back to Vegas and spend some time that’s not in each other’s company, and get the band going again, and hang out with Brent and Brendon and everything will be fine, everything will be more than fine.

 _For now, though – Spencer’s never dated anyone, but in his quieter, lonelier moments he can admit this sort of feels like getting dumped. It’s hard to look Ryan in the eye, all of a sudden, and Spencer can feel his heart beating too fast whenever Ryan walks into a room. It’s good then, Spencer thinks dully, that they ended this whole… idea as quickly as they did, because Spencer clearly is some kind of freak who gets invested in things that don’t mean anything really fast._

 _They’re not actively fighting anymore, at least. They don’t really talk anymore, not about anything that matters, but they can sit in the same room and not be at each other’s throats. The atmosphere of the house, at least, feels a little more tense, and Crystal stops looking so wary whenever she walks into a room that contains both of them._

 _Spencer calls Brent a few times, and tries to explain what’s going on without actually saying what they did, which is almost impossible. He wonders if Brendon knows the whole story, if Ryan told him. He hopes not on the most basic level, but deep down it’s almost like a bit of confirmation; if Brendon knows, Ryan told him, and that means it hasn’t been awarded a sense of importance in Spencer’s head alone._

 _He’s really sick of thinking about it._

 _Brent says, “No, seriously, dude, you alright? You sound really down.”_

 _“I’m tired,” Spencer says. “It’s like… I want to go home. I miss my own bed.”_

 _“Yeah,” Brent says, “I know the feeling. It’s not that long now though, Spence. What, a week?”_

 _“About that,” Spencer agrees, rolling onto his back. “I don’t know, man. It’ll be good to be back.”_

 _“It’ll be good to have you back,” Brent says, and Spencer can hear his grin. “It’s been weird, you and Ryan gone. I think Brendon’s going crazy.”_

 _“I think Brendon would have gone crazy this Christmas even if we were there,” Spencer confides in a low voice, and Brent is silent for a moment._

 _Finally, he sighs. “Yes,” he says. “Yeah, I think his family are giving him… a hard time. Not on purpose, but just, they don’t like the band—”_

 _“It’s not like we’ve been _practicing_ ,” Spencer interrupts. “That’s a bit harsh.”_

“Brendon told them about Pete Wentz coming down in February,” Brent says. “I think before they thought it was just Brendon having fun with some friends, you know? Now it’s real, and they want Brendon to do a mission and stuff and he doesn’t even – I don’t think he even _believes_ in that stuff anymore.”

“Yeah, me either,” Spencer says. “Fuck, okay, we’ll have to sort something out.”

“What can we do?” Brent asks, sounding dispirited and unhappy and Spencer shakes his head wordlessly, stares up at the ceiling. He doesn’t know, anymore.

*

Jackie is feeling well enough to be up and about again, and Crystal decides a celebration is in order, so the twins and Ryan and Spencer crowd down in the living room one night for a dance movie marathon. Spencer actually kind of likes the inevitable awesome dance scenes at the end, and Ryan pretends he doesn’t but totally does, so it’s an alright way to spend an evening.

By the time they’ve gotten through Center Stage and Honey, Spencer’s enjoying himself enough to allow Crystal to drag him to his feet while Jackie loads the next movie to do an impromptu and ridiculous waltz, while Ryan laughs on the couch. They finish out of breath and grinning stupidly at each other, and when Spencer turns around to bow Ryan’s smile has faded, a little, lingering on his face almost by accident, and his eyes are dark and unreadable, fixed on Spencer.

Spencer flushes and sits back down a little uneasily, too conscious of the very little space between them. He pulls the blanket back up over himself to hide the goosebumps breaking out on his arms, says, “I want some sulky Julia Stiles, now.”

“Oh, no, come on,” Ryan says. “If we want sulky Julia Stiles, we watch 10 Things I Hate About You, not fucking Save The Last Dance.”

“10 Things I Hate About You isn’t a dance movie,” Crystal says smugly, and presses play. Ryan rolls his eyes and groans, slumping further down on the couch, but Spencer knows Ryan’s secret love for this movie, so whatever.

They’re quiet for a long time, apart from Jackie, who still laughs out loud at the lame jokes, nearly ten viewings in. After a while, though, Ryan rests his cheek in his hand and sighs.

"I never get that," he says, eyes fixed on the screen. "How they can just... how he just kisses her goodnight like that, and then, like, leaves. I don't get it."

"What's not to get?" Crystal wonders from her spot next to Spencer. "It's romantic. Look how pretty she looks."

"Yeah," Ryan says. "Yeah, like, it's romantic and stuff, but I don't think I could. Stop. Like, they love each other, and stuff? Why does she just go inside?"

"It's complicated," Jackie says decisively. "Like, with her mom dying? And how Derek's friends don't like her? I like it, I think it's sweet."

"Maybe," Ryan says, ruefully. "I just. I don't think I could stop."

Spencer stands up and walks out of the room. He lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling and feels small and cold and stupid, and his tongue feels heavy in his mouth and his skin feels prickly-hot and aching, hurting him. He wonders what kind of corner they've backed themselves into. He wonders how slow, how fast these last few days can go. In his head, Ryan says, _It’s always better if we do shit together_.

The door opens and then Ryan closes it behind him. He walks towards the bed and climbs up on it and kisses Spencer, propping himself over Spencer's body so that his back is arching uncomfortably and his neck is going to have a crick in it. Spencer sighs and Ryan takes it as an invitation and sucks Spencer's bottom lip into his mouth. His breath tastes a little bit stale but his mouth is warm and Spencer can feel the beginning of a headache.

"What are we doing, Ryan," he says eventually, too flat to be a question, and Ryan shifts further away and looks at him with bright eyes.

"Dunno," he says. Spencer kisses him.

*

They don’t fuck. They don’t do anything at all, really, except Ryan lies down next to Spencer, warm all along his side, and pulls the blankets up over both of them, until they’re blinking at each other in the semi-dark, the glow of the lamp through the material giving Ryan an unearthly appearance. They lie on their sides facing each other, noses touching, and Ryan kisses him and kisses him and kisses him, and Spencer feels tired and useless and sad, and also kind of easy. He doesn’t say no, though, and eventually he closes his eyes, and Ryan squirms closer and they fall asleep like that, mouths open and just barely touching.

Spencer wakes up in the middle of the night to Ryan shifting above him, pushing his way out from the blankets. Spencer forgets to think for a moment, just tightens his grip on Ryan’s elbow and makes a small, unhappy noise, and Ryan freezes, looks down at him.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m just turning out the lamp.”

“Oh,” Spencer says, cheeks flushing in the dark. Ryan lowers himself back down; he’s wearing a t-shirt, and he shivers, hair on his arms standing up from the cold. Spencer drags the quilt back up over both of them.

“There’s really not enough room,” Ryan whispers. “For both of us, I mean.”

“It’s _my_ bed,” Spencer points out. He waits, tense, but Ryan doesn’t move, just nods, head shifting on the pillow. Spencer kisses him again, and when he breaks away Ryan gives him a small smile, one of those insufferable ones that suggest he comprehends so much more than Spencer, that usually make Spencer angry and now just make him resigned.

“You always – I thought we weren’t doing this,” Spencer says after a while, because Ryan’s still watching him, eyes big and focused, and Spencer can’t sleep if Ryan’s doing that.

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees. “We decided. Only you just kissed me.”

“You kissed me first,” Spencer says hotly, and Ryan laughs a little and props himself up on one elbow.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Yes, you did,” Spencer tells him. Ryan doesn’t do anything he doesn’t mean, Spencer thinks. Ryan always, always knows exactly what he’s doing.

“No, I didn’t,” Ryan says. He sighs and rolls over, his back to Spencer, and Spencer rolls to face the other side. Just as he’s drifting off to sleep, though, he feels Ryan roll back over, and then Ryan’s arm around his waist, anchoring him. Spencer doesn’t dream about anything, that night.

When he wakes up again Ryan’s face is pressed between Spencer’s shoulder blades and he’s snuffling slightly, which is Ryan’s weird form of snoring, which means that Spencer’s going to have a gross patch of dribble on his t-shirt. The clock reads half past ten, already, and Spencer crawls out of bed, changes his shirt and jeans (which, ow, sleeping in them is really fucking uncomfortable and Spencer’s an idiot) and then goes downstairs.

Jackie looks up from her toast. “You alright?” she asks.

“Fine,” Spencer says, a little startled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You left suddenly last night,” she says, shrugging. “I thought maybe you might have felt sick.”

“I think I might have avoided your death plague, thanks,” Spencer says, amused, and then feels the smile drop from his face when he looks up to Ryan standing in the doorway.

“Morning,” Ryan says, cautiously, and goes over to make himself some coffee. Spencer watches, and then catches himself and looks away, back at the newspaper that Crystal’s left open at the comics.

“Morning, Ryan,” Jackie says, cheerfully. “You sleep well?”

Ryan drops the teaspoon in the sink with a loud clattering noise. Spencer blinks, and Crystal stares. Ryan flushes red.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Thanks.”

Spencer says, meaninglessly, “I want orange juice,” and goes to get it from the fridge. On the way past, he accidentally brushes past Ryan and Ryan flinches, jumps away from him. Spencer’s chest tightens, and his throat with it. That’s the way it’s going to be, then, he thinks. Fine, whatever. They had a… lapse in concentration, or whatever.

“Sorry,” Ryan says. Spencer shrugs. Ryan makes a small frustrated noise and glances at Jackie, who’s getting up and walking out of the room, calling out for Spencer’s mom. Ryan says, “Spencer. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Spencer says. “Doesn’t matter. Just forget about it.”

“Fine,” Ryan says. “Fine, yeah, I will.”

*

The day passes quietly. It’s the second to last full day they’re spending in the house, anyway, and Spencer’s mom gets them to spend some of the day up in their individual rooms, packing up and getting ready to leave. Ryan and Spencer have managed to strew their stuff all the way across the room, so it’s probably a good idea, but it’s a little awkward, especially with Ryan’s bed neatly made up and not slept in and Spencer’s covers still pulled back from where Ryan came downstairs.

Spencer puts Take This To Your Grave on loud enough that they don’t have to talk, and they work in silence, occasionally chucking some of the other’s clothes towards their side of the room. Towards the end, Spencer sneaks downstairs with the wastebasket to empty it in the big trash can outside, along with some newspaper to strew over the top. He doesn’t want anyone in his family looking at exactly what he and Ryan have been disposing of lately.

When he gets back upstairs, Ryan’s made his bed and turned the music off, and pulled his phone out. Spencer hesitates at the door and then says, before he can help himself, “Calling Brendon?”

“No,” Ryan says, looking up at Spencer strangely. “My dad. He left a message last night, I missed the call.”

“Oh,” Spencer says. He stands awkwardly in the doorway a moment longer and then asks, “Want me to stay?”

Ryan shrugs. “Sure, if you want to.” He pulls out the phone and presses a number on speed dial, puts it against his ear. Then he looks up at Spencer and says quickly, “Thanks,” and Spencer closes the door, comes into the room and sits cross-legged on his bed.

“Hey, it’s me,” Ryan says. “Yeah, I saw, I – I missed it, sorry. We were watching movies. I think Center Stage. It’s about ballet, Spencer’s sisters picked it. No, I, Dad, come on, I wasn’t.”

Spencer props his elbows on his legs and his chin in his hands, and Ryan paces impatiently across the room, settling at the windowsill with the phone squeezed between his ear and shoulder, hands curled around the frame. His back is hunched and Spencer can see the curve of his spine through his sweatshirt, can see the bumps of his bones. He wants to reach out and touch, wants to cross the room and press right up against Ryan, chin fitted over his shoulder, hips to his ass. Ryan said _sorry_ , though, and _I didn’t mean to_ , and Spencer stays right where he is.

“Yeah, we get back in two days,” Ryan says. “I don’t think we’ll be home until late, though. It’s okay, I’ve got a key, I can let myself in. No, Dad, I don’t need you to – it’s alright. Because I don’t want to. Because Spencer’s family is probably sick of me now, Dad, I don’t need to spend a _nother_ night with them – yes. Yes, I told you. I don’t need you to wait up for me, really, I don’t mind.”

Spencer closes his eyes and sets his jaw. He’s glad, he thinks viciously, he’s glad Ryan can let himself in, he doesn’t _want_ Ryan to spend another night in the same room as him. The sooner he gets rid of Ryan for a while, the better. He’s going to go home and ignore Ryan for a _week_. Maybe two.

“Yeah, I missed you,” Ryan says, voice low. “I’m not – no, Dad, I’m not lying. Because you’re at work, you’re at work or you’re busy or – anyway. It’ll be good to see you again. Come on, I’m not gonna go back to college and ignore you, I fucking _live_ with you.”

Spencer winces, and the line of Ryan’s back tightens. He puts his arms around himself, hands clasping at his own elbows, nails digging in through the cloth. His nails are jagged, Spencer knows, felt them drag on his skin not that long ago. Ryan should stop biting them.

“Sorry,” Ryan says. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll see you then. Bye.”

He hangs up and turns around, chin tilted up, mouth set, and Spencer regards him blankly. He could say anything, ask if Ryan wants to go get lunch, tell him he’s welcome to stay one more night with them if he wants, but he stays silent. He’s sick of helping Ryan out. After a moment, Ryan lets out a noisy breath and turns around, walks out the door and downstairs without looking back. Spencer sits still on the bed and listens to the echoes of his footsteps.

*

Spencer wakes up early the next morning to a freezing cold room. It’s snowed again overnight, and there’s a fresh layer of white over everything outside when he looks out the window. It’s only seven in the morning, so as of yet it’s unmarred by the inevitable excitement of fresh snowmen and forts to make when Crystal and Jackie wake up (snow on the last day, he knows they’ll be stupidly triumphant), but as Spencer looks out the window he suddenly sees a line of footprints.

A little further away, small and almost out of sight, but nonetheless unmistakeable, is the dark figure of Ryan sitting on the fence.

Spencer stares for a moment and then he hisses something furious and determined and incomprehensible even to himself, and snatches up his hoodie from the ground. He gets dressed quickly with fierce, determined movements, yanking his jeans up and lacing his shoes with tight knots that are probably going to prove difficult to undo later today.

He goes downstairs as quickly and quietly as he can, and Ryan’s left the front door unlocked, so he slips outside easily. It’s even colder out there, and despite his hoodie and scarf Spencer takes in a surprised breath, shoving his hands into his pockets. He gets halfway towards Ryan before Ryan notices him, jolting on his precarious position on the fence, and then peering over his shoulder to stare at Spencer, face blank. Spencer decides now is a good enough time as ever to start yelling.

“I’m so fucking _sick_ of you!” he shouts across the space between them. He’s walking quickly, and he can see Ryan’s eyes widen. “Can you please, please tell me what’s going on? Or even just what you _want_ from me, that would be really good, because right now I can’t decide if you want to be my best friend or my worst enemy and I’m getting really fucking sick of all your _bullshit_.”

Ryan shifts around the fence, sliding off and onto the ground, leaning back against it. He says, raising his voice just enough for it to carry to Spencer, “What?”

Spencer makes a helpless, furious noise and waits until he’s close enough for them to talk properly, clenching his fists in his pockets and squinting at Ryan. Ryan’s wearing a pullover that’s far too thin – fucking _typical_ , Spencer thinks.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Spencer tells him, voice harsh in the cold morning. “You keep fucking _messing_ with my head and I’d just, I really want things to go back to _normal_ except you’re such a fucking freak that apparently you can’t even be my friend anymore!”

“Jesus, Spencer,” Ryan says, voice hard. “You take everything – it’s like the whole world is against you, seriously. Grow up, for fuck’s sake, stop being all, oh, why me—”

“That’s pretty rich, coming from you,” Spencer says, through gritted teeth.

“At least I can accept when I’ve screwed up!” Ryan shouts. “At least I can – I can admit it, I can say when I’ve gone wrong and I _did_ , but you wanna put all the blame on me and, and you did it too, Spencer! I don’t remember _forcing_ you to fuck me!”

Spencer takes a step back involuntarily because he wanted to yell, wanted to heap all his anger on Ryan, but he isn’t sure he wanted to talk about that. He blinks at Ryan and Ryan laughs coldly, says, “Yeah, see, there you go. You can’t even _deal_ with it. Your extremely mature method of getting past _fucking me_ is to pretend it never happened.”

“What?” Spencer says, incredulous. “Ryan, you’re the one who – who kissed me the other night and then ignored it all again the next morning—”

“You said it didn’t matter,” Ryan says, fast and low. “You said it didn’t matter, and I should forget about it.”

“ _You_ said you didn’t mean to,” Spencer counters. “That night, that night you said you didn’t mean to, and you fucking _apologised_.”

“I said I didn’t _mean_ to, not that I didn’t _want_ to!” Ryan explodes, and then they both fall silent. Spencer stares at him and Ryan draws in a deep, shuddering breath, turns away.

“Ryan,” Spencer says. His voice sounds hoarse; he flushes, clears his throat, tries again. “Ryan, you said it was a bad idea and that we were messing everything up.”

“Because it was, sort of,” Ryan says, dully. “You brought it up. What did you want me to do, kick a tantrum about you… finishing stuff?”

Spencer’s heart is doing weird things, looping and jumping in his chest. He says, “Don’t give me that, you broke it off as much as me. And, you went all weird. At the end. It was like you hated me, or something.”

Ryan sighs and turns away, leans on the fence. He says, almost whispers, “You kept talking to Brendon. Brendon’s… I _know_ Brendon’s gay and you said, you said at the beginning that you wanted a boyfriend. A date. That’s what the whole thing was about.”

“Wait,” Spencer says, mind racing. “You were – you were jealous? Of _Brendon_? But I was – it was you and me! We were doing stuff!”

“Stuff,” Ryan echoes. He won’t look at Spencer. “Sex. Just say the fucking words, Spencer, seriously.” He takes a breath and says, “That’s what you wanted. I wanted you. So.” He shrugs his shoulders, whispers, “It would have been – I was waiting, for it to be over, anyway.”

There’s something stuck in Spencer’s throat. He walks closer, looks at Ryan’s scrawny shoulders and says, “But I. I mean. Me, too.”

Ryan turns around slowly. Spencer can count his eyelashes, this close up. Ryan’s mouth is parted slightly and he says, “Spence, don’t – don’t do this.”

“You said it was a mistake,” Spencer tells him, quietly. “You made me so – I thought you’d hated it for ages or something, didn’t want, didn’t want _me_ anymore.”

“I,” Ryan says, voice rough. He clears his throat, eyes huge and frightened and fixed on Spencer’s face, tries again with, “I always.”

Spencer manages a small smile. “Yeah?”

“From – well, from like… this holidays,” Ryan admits. He reaches out tentatively and very, very slowly, pushes some of Spencer’s hair back behind his ears. Spencer breathes out a mist in the cold air and Ryan smiles hesitantly back at him, says, “You’re a really good lay, Spencer Smith.”

“I’m flattered,” Spencer says. He swallows hard and says, “You said it would mess with the band—”

“Fuck the band,” Ryan says, surprising both of them with his ferocity. He flushes, cheeks pink, and says, “Spence, I never – you think I want the band more than you? You think I want, want anything more than—”

“I was hoping not,” Spencer says, and leans closer to press his mouth against Ryan’s. Ryan’s hands tighten in his hair and he opens his mouth, licks into Spencer’s, and God, Spencer loves kissing Ryan, Spencer really, really loves kissing Ryan. He grabs at Ryan’s hips, tugs him in closer and Ryan gasps, pressing closer to Spencer, squirming up close all along his front.

They break away and Ryan says, breathless, words stumbling awkwardly from his tongue, “I want, I want, Spence.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says. He unzips his hoodie and takes it off, holds it out. “Here. You’re going to freeze.”

*

“Is that the last of the bags?” Spencer’s dad shouts. “Last chance to look, everyone! Quick, up and down the house, we can’t turn back if you realise you’ve forgotten something halfway!”

Spencer groans – his legs ache from trooping up and down the stairs all morning, and he thinks he’s carried sixty million bags down to the car at the very least (fucking Ryan, who always manages to find the lightest things to do trips down the stairs with – their _pillows_ , seriously). Ryan wanders behind Spencer now, too, as if waiting for Spencer to spot things and pick them up before Ryan can.

There isn’t really anything, though, especially not on the floor where they slept, where Spencer and Ryan did the most thorough cleaning job of their lives. Spencer’s mom had been very impressed by their sense of responsibility about cleaning up their own messes, including airing out the room and washing the sheets and vacuuming, and Spencer had decided it was much better to work a bit harder and reap all those brownie points, rather than having their mom come up to help out. The room, after all, still kind of reeked of sex.

Ryan looks under the beds, helpfully, and Spencer leans back against the door and watches him for a moment, grinning. When Ryan crawls back out, Spencer waggles his eyebrows at him and says, “Nice view, thanks, Ross,” and Ryan flushes pink and then makes an exasperated noise.

“Maturity, Smith,” he says. “We’ve had this discussion, remember,” but he comes when Spencer beckons him over, stands on Spencer’s toes with a little bit of malicious glee and lets Spencer kiss him. Spencer kisses soft and warm, tugging Ryan closer towards him, and Ryan makes small, content noises, then nips at Spencer’s lip a little grumpily, clearly remembering that he’s supposed to be annoyed.

They break away before either of them can start to get too into it (travelling with a boner is no one’s idea of a good time), and Spencer’s breathing is only a little bit fast. His heart still races in his chest every time Ryan gives him that shy, uncertain smile, though, like knowing they’re doing something – something sort of serious changes the way Ryan looks at him. Then again, Spencer supposes that makes sense.

“Are you gonna be sad?” Ryan asks. “To go, I mean.”

“Um, a little, I guess,” Spencer says. “The cold weather’s been pretty awesome, and it was cool to have a White Christmas. I’m going to spend a whole day all by myself though, man. It’ll be glorious. And so nice not to be faced with your morning grumpiness every day.”

“And your bad breath,” Ryan agrees. He smiles crookedly, says, “We’ve got to go back and fix Brendon, though.”

“Help Brendon,” Spencer corrects. “I think he’s going to be okay, really. The band needs a guitarist and a drummer though, I’m thinking.”

“Pete Wentz is coming down in three weeks,” Ryan says, quietly. “We haven’t practiced for a long time.”

“We’ll be ready,” Spencer says, firmly. “We’re gonna get out of Vegas, Ryan. I promise.”

“Yes,” Ryan says. He looks out the window and says, “I’m glad. I liked the snow.”

Spencer reaches out and touches the side of Ryan’s face, fingers lingering on his cheek. Ryan turns back to him, almost surprised looking, and Spencer slides his hand up against Ryan’s face, cool against Ryan’s cheek. Ryan turns into it, nuzzling against his palm for a moment, and Spencer’s heart still jumps, every time.

“Boys!” his mom yells from downstairs. “Time to go, come on!”

“Time to go,” Spencer echoes, and Ryan steps away from him, leads the way downstairs. Spencer follows him, and as his family are waiting by the door he doesn’t let his gaze linger on the back of Ryan’s neck, the straight line of his back. It’s nice to know, though, that he could.

In the car, he and Ryan get consigned to the very back for the first half of the trip, which sucks, because the space is kind of constricted and it cramps Spencer’s legs. He watches Crystal and Jackie settle into the middle seats and thinks with sudden horror and disturbing amusement, _we had sex there_ , and despite himself he starts giggling.

Ryan looks at him, bright and amused, and brings a warning finger up to his lips, making exaggerated shushing gestures. Spencer giggles harder, ducking his head and pressing his smile against his knees.

They pull out of the driveway and it’s weird, living in a place for six weeks and knowing you might never come back. Spencer’s not overly sad, though – the house was cool, yeah, but it’ll be good to be home. He hooks his seatbelt to the side and Ryan follows suit, both of them trying to be comfortable.

They talk for the first hour or so, but Ryan falls quiet after a while and Spencer notices that he looks kind of sleepy, shuts up too. After a while, Spencer notices out of the corner of his eye as Ryan surreptitiously unbuckles his seat belt and slumps sideways, and he starts off on Spencer’s shoulder and ends up on Spencer’s lap, cheek pressed to Spencer’s thigh, snoring softly against the denim of his jeans.

Another hour in and Ryan says, quite clearly, “Brendon, shut the _fuck_ up,” before falling silent again.

Spencer’s mom laughs and Jackie says, “Oh, is he talking in his sleep again?” She and Crystal peer over the seats at them, and then squint at them.

“Spencer,” Jackie says, “Why is Ryan in your lap?”

“Because,” Spencer says, a little defensively. Jackie and Crystal exchange a look and start giggling.

“Oh my God, that is so sweet,” Crystal coos, in an over-the-top, high-pitched voice. “Does anyone have a camera?”

“ _So_ sweet,” Jackie echoes. “Seriously, Spencer, you two are so _weird_ sometimes. Is he, like, your boyfriend or something?”

“Shut up,” Spencer says, hand resting on Ryan’s head, combing through his hair absently. “He’s sleeping.”


End file.
